#more detailed profiles coming soon

[squaretablehold]

The Muses in Brief:

Tarnished:

Hunter - loud, annoying, and possibly just a little bit mad. Sings when fights get difficult, gives terrible nick names, and talks oddly consistent nonsense if you can parse it at all. Sews.

Rhys - deaf, uses sign language (specifically asl), a collection of prattling pates strung on a necklace, and a wax tablet to communicate, scared of horses. Too patient for his own good.

War Surgeons:

Context Headcanon post HERE

Juzan - the only one that has any kind of claim to being a real doctor. Hates it here. Also the only one left alive by the start of the game.

Rowen - baby of the group, also the most dangerous in combat.

Rosalie - anatomy nerd with a sadistic streak. Likes makeup.

Bruce -  just here to do his job making him maybe the third worst of the bunch.

Elle Hasselti -  quite possibly a cannibal.

Magdolaine the Surgeon General - condescending in the extreme, cares deeply about her surgeons (minus Juzan because he was a later addition), but everyone else can go die in a ditch.

Other:

Calendula "Ruddle" The Gilded Omen - Plucked out of the sewers as a child, trussed up and trained as a dancer at an underground freak show in Leyndell, her troop left her behind after the shattering so she wanders alone.

Blood Priestess Phrike - ex finger maiden, now gleefully researches blood incantations for the dynasty.

Dog the Wandering Archive - A stone tortoise with a cart full of books and small hat. They’re Miriel's on-again off‐again apprentice as they’re often seized by wanderlust and a hunger to learn new things.

[sundrop-writes]

Careful - Chapter One

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter One: Over Yet

We can go farther, beyond the end.

Summary:

You and Spencer broke up more than four years ago. Since then, he has tried his best to forget about you. He has pushed all of his feelings down - locked them away into a little box that he never touches.

That is, until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being stalked and killed by a man who kills single mothers. (And he quickly realizes that your son could be his.)

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 5,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Please keep in mind - I am not doing a taglist for this series, so please do not ask to be tagged in future parts. I do not do taglists. If you want to be notified when future parts of this fic are posted, you can follow this blog and turn on notifications here - I don't make personal posts on this blog, it is just pure posts of my fanfiction. Or you can subcribe on AO3 to get email notifications when this series is posted. You can also view the posting schedule on the series materlist and check @tenpintsof-sundrop for any information about possible changes to that schedule.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, the underlying misogyny that comes with a man killing women, mentions of children being orphaned due to their mothers being killed (though there is no mentions of other living family members taking care of those children - you can imaging that they still have nice families to take care of them if you want, I didn’t fill in that detail), mentions of children being in proximity of a serial killer; exes to lovers - the reader and Spencer broke up and the reason why will be revealed later; mentions of pregnancy/mentions of the reader having a child; mentions of sex that resulted in a child/pregnancy (there is no detailed sex scenes/detailed smut in this chapter, but there will be in other chapters); mentions of JJ x Will; the reader’s looks are described as vaguely as possible; passing mention of incest (in the context of a historical figure); all statements that Spencer makes toward the end of this chapter were heavily researched and are factual; I think that’s about it?

A/N: The reader and Spencer originally dated around Season 1/Season 2 - I state at some point during the fic that they dated for 3 years before breaking up, so they started dating when he was very early Season 1 baby Spence (or even before Season 1) and they broke up around Season 2. So technically this fic takes place around Season 6 - but because I didn't want to distract from the plot, I didn't mention any of the stuff going on with Emily or any of those major canon plot points, and I am using pictures of later versions of Spencer just because that's who I was picturing in my head while writing this. But that's how the math works out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!! This chapter is more of an introduction before we really get into the meat of things, but I still hope that you guys like it.

...

The team had been in Portland for three days.

No leads, a confusing, inconsistent profile - huge pieces missing that would likely give them the real answers. 

A patient killer with an extended timeline who likely wouldn’t kill again for months - leaving them chasing their tails, looking for answers. 

“Okay, so, let’s take a step back.” Hotch sighed. “What do we know so far?” 

He leaned against a nearby table, looking at everyone with the hope of reassessing the case from a different angle. The hope of talking it out to get some answers. 

Another woman’s body had been found just before they arrived, and that would mean that the UnSub would be out hunting again soon. This was both good and bad. 

Good, because the UnSub clearly had to spend a lot of time stalking his victims - he knew a lot of details of their lives, and he had spent a lot of time developing an intimate fantasy of being a part of their family in his mind. So he wouldn’t be killing again the next day. No woman was in immediate danger. It gave the team more time to find viable suspects. 

Bad because they had no physical evidence, no good leads. And thus far, the profile was leading them nowhere. It felt incomplete. 

They could find no real connections between the victims - their gyms, their banks, their childcare, their grocery stores. Somehow, the victims didn’t seem to have any crossover in their lives. There was no real way to say how the UnSub had met them. And someone like this - he would have interacted with them at least once in order to become obsessed and stalk them to this degree. 

“Five women dead within the last three years.” Prentiss announced, starting to round up the facts that the team knew for certain. “All of them mothers, all with children under the age of five. All within the same ten square mile radius of Oregon, around Portland’s suburban neighborhoods.” 

She slumped back into her chair with a tired huff, and then continued. 

“The UnSub breaks into their homes through a backdoor or a back window, and somehow goes undetected in such an upscale neighborhood.” She sighed. “He kills the mothers, but he leaves their children alive. And then he calls 9-1-1 to report the death as a case of child neglect.” 

“So he was likely neglected by his own mother in his childhood.” Morgan easily theorized. 

“All of the victims upper-middle class, single mothers to one child with good jobs. All of them are of the same physical type.” Rossi added on. “They’re the same race, they have the hair color, they’re the same body type - all in their late twenties to early thirties. So the UnSub definitely has a type. He’s most definitely recreating a fantasy of some kind - perhaps taking out revenge on his own mother, but protecting himself. Which is why he never hurts the children.” 

“Yeah, but the children are different.” Morgan replied. “Sometimes boys, sometimes girls. Some of them are biracial - he doesn’t look for a specific type in the father. He doesn’t necessarily need to see himself in the children.” 

Then, as another thought occurred to him, Morgan continued on: 

“Plus, the children’s ages vary from barely a year old all the way up to five - if he was looking to seek revenge on his mother, looking to protect a younger version of himself, then he would have locked in on a critical event that he needs to protect himself from. The age of the children would be more consistent, at least, because he would be looking to protect himself as he hits the age that he was most traumatized by a specific event.” 

“That’s good.” Hotch nodded. “Then we know that it’s more about the mothers. He hates women at his core. Protecting the children is just a byproduct of his obsession over these women.” 

“But we still have no clue how these women could be connected or how they met the UnSub.” Morgan replied, jaw stiff with frustration. 

“Focus on what we do know.” Hotch reminded him. 

“All of the women were killed via stabbing. They all had over a dozen stab wounds to their stomachs and genital areas.” Rossi replied. “So, he is an aggressive sexual sadist.” 

“But if he hates women so much, why spend so much time in the house?” Morgan argued gently. “Every single one of these scenes has evidence that the UnSub spent hours - possibly up to a day in the house before he killed them. He cooked dinner, set the table, and made the women eat it before he killed them. Including a second place setting for a child. Some of the kids even said that ‘the scary man’ tucked them into bed and read them a story.” 

He held up one of the crime scene photos that depicted the scene of the family’s place settings - a haunting scene of plates not cleaned up from dinner, with a flower vase sitting in the middle of the table with a few white flowers wilting inside of it. 

“He’s right - why bother to show them the kindness of a last meal if he shows so much aggression toward them during the killing?” Prentiss added on. 

“It’s a routine.” Hotch said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. “It’s likely that he chooses single mothers because he gets to play the role of the father. With the real father figure absent from the picture, it makes it easier for him to impose himself into that role. At least for a temporary amount of time.” 

“It is strange.” Reid added on, clearly swimming in thought. “It’s almost like he’s courting them? Sending them gifts, showing what a good father he could be. Each of the women were sent white carnations sometime in the days before they were killed, and after the killing, he lays the flowers around their head in a halo-like fashion. It is said that carnations represent motherhood, and the white shade could depict an angelic innocence that he’s projecting onto these women.” 

“So he views these women as angelic figures, yet he kills them so brutally?” Prentiss scoffed. “It just doesn’t add up.” 

“Maybe he views the killing itself as a type of purification.” Reid theorized. “It’s not uncommon for killers to emotionally fetishize dead bodies and consider them more ‘pure’ than their living counterparts.” 

Prentiss visibly cringed at this. 

“Wait.” JJ said, looking at one of the crime scene photos with a sharp line pulling her brows together. 

Everyone looked to her, waiting for her to finish this thought. 

“I don’t think that the mothers were the only ones sent gifts.” 

She held up the photo, showing a picture of a colorful child’s play mat in the living room. Everyone stared at the photo in confusion, and JJ sighed and began to explain. 

“Look at this toy truck in the middle.” She said, pointing at something that almost blended into the background of the photo. The true focus was a large handprint - one that belonged to the killer, but he had worn gloves. “It’s wooden, it’s hand-carved, it’s old fashioned. All the other toys are plastic, brightly coloured. Remember what the UnSub said in the second 9-1-1 call?” 

“‘She pretends to have her son’s best interests at heart, but she was going to let him get cancer from sucking on those cheap plastic toys.’” Reid said, repeating it word-for-word, using his impeccable memory. 

“Exactly.” JJ confirmed with a nod. “Clearly the UnSub believes that he would be a good father because he can gift his child something hand-made instead of something mass produced.” 

“Alright, get the crime scene techs back over there to pick up the truck, maybe he wasn’t wearing gloves when he made it and there is some slim chance he left a print on it.” Hotch said, and JJ left to call the crime scene unit. 

This left the team sitting in silence for a few more moments until Reid spoke up again. 

“What about preschools?” He said, suddenly coming out of a wave of thought to announce this to the room. 

“What?” Prentiss prompted, wondering what on earth he was talking about. 

“Preschools.” Spencer confirmed, looking across the table at her. 

“We checked already, none of the victims’ children went to the same preschool.” Morgan reminded him. “Two of the kids didn’t even go to preschool.” 

“Yeah, but preschools typically have large waitlists.” Spencer argued. 

Naturally, all eyes in the room fell on him, waiting for him to explain. 

“In the first 9-1-1 call, the UnSub said that the victim ‘shipped her son off to be cared for by strangers half the time’.” He explained, once again perfectly reciting this from memory. “What if the UnSub resents preschools and the schooling system for taking these children away from their mothers, so he’s choosing his victims off of a preschool waitlist? What if that’s where his obsession stems from because that’s where his rage stems from?” 

Reid jumped up, pointing to the map he had been using to make a geographical profile. 

“All of the victims live within the same school district.” He added on. “So they would be applying to the same group of preschools.” 

“I’ll call Garcia.” Morgan announced. 

A few minutes later, Morgan connected Garcia’s call to the comm on the center of the conference table they were working from. 

“Hey, pumpkin pies.” She greeted them sweetly, as usual. “So it turns out, the preschool that Tommy Laird, and Emily Ashton, the third and the fourth victim had in common, does have a waitlist. But none of the other victims’ names were on it.” 

“Come on, babygirl. I know you’re holding out on me.” Morgan said, giving a small smirk. 

“Oh, my Adonis, if I don’t have your trembling anticipation, I have nothing.” Garcia giggled. “The school’s waitlist, and their applications, are handled by a firm called Gordon & Stanheight. And it turns out, they handle the applications and waitlisting for five other preschools in the area.” 

“Which gives the UnSub a perfect way to pick his victims.” Morgan sighed. “The first interaction that gets him hooked might not even be in person-” 

“Unless he’s picking them out of the line-up on paper and then waiting to meet them in person?” Prentiss replied. “With this type of guy, the smallest smile, a nod in his direction - that could be consent in his mind to play father to a household that’s missing one.” 

“You said they handle forms for five different schools? That just widened the victim pool.” Rossi groaned. 

“And the suspect pool.” Garcia added on. “The firm has thirty male employees. And I did a bit more digging - the preschool applications have ten ‘optional’ questions on the bottom that are definitely not marked as such. Questions directed at the parent filling out the form, rather than vital information about the child. Things such as: ‘what’s your favorite food?’, ‘when is your birthday?’, ‘what’s your favorite color?’, ‘do you plan on having more children?’ - typical survey schlock,” 

“That would explain why the UnSub served Lisa Laird a birthday cake.” Reid sighed. “He knew it was her birthday two days before he killed her.”

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is going.” Emily sighed. 

“Oh, sugar. You probably won’t.” Penelope easily agreed. “The ‘optional’ part of the forms is sold off to other companies as survey data. And those forms are seen and handled by over a thousand male employees of Gordon & Stanheight’s larger ‘data processing’ sector.” 

“Well the UnSub has to be local to Portland. So narrow down the suspect list based on his last known address and go from there.” Hotch said. “Also, it would be someone who has a criminal record. Someone committing this level of violence wouldn’t be a first time offender.” 

“Gotcha.” Penelope said. “Penny G, out.” 

… 

The team ended up raiding Gordon & Stanheight’s Portland based office. 

After some pointless conversation, some threats of lawsuits, and some even larger threats of being detained for impeding an FBI investigation, the team was able to get their hands on the preschool applications. Over two-dozen boxes worth, that they would have to sort through. 

So this left JJ, Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss knee deep in paper, looking for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did. 

“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers. 

“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the house until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.” 

“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.” 

“So we’re hanging all our hopes on the idea that this psychopath needs time to ‘fall in love’ with his next victim before he kills her?” Prentiss groaned. 

“Sadly, yes.” Rossi confirmed. 

“It helps that most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.” 

The rest of the conversation easily became quiet in Spencer’s ears when he saw it. 

It should have been just another page among the sea of paper in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut. It pushed all the air out of him in seconds, it made him dizzy, made him struggle to breathe. Like a reel flashing through his mind, it brought back a flood of memories he thought he had locked away forever. 

It was you. 

What the hell were you doing applying for preschools? 

Spencer rushed to tear this paper away from the others in order to read it more carefully. 

Surely enough, the application was filled out in your handwriting. Something that had barely changed over the years. And it was all right there, laid out in front of his eyes, clear as day - 

You had a son. 

A son named Sebastian, who was three years old. Spencer checked the date on the form, eagerly looking for a birth date for your son. His birthday had just recently passed, actually, so he was four years old now. 

And his birth date was… fuck. 

He had been born eight and a half months, almost nine months exactly after the two of you had broken up. Your son had been born eight and a half months after the day you had left and Spencer had never seen you again. 

One thousand, seven hundred and two days. 

Four years, eight months, and two days. 

It wasn’t difficult math. 

Your son was the perfect age to be Spencer’s child. Was this Spencer’s child? 

His hands began to shake at the very thought of it.  

Is that why you had disappeared from his life with such haste? Because you knew that you were pregnant and you didn’t want Spencer to be a part of your child’s life? 

Had you been keeping this from him intentionally? 

He hadn’t thought about you in four long years, he had tried so hard not to. He had spent so long forcing himself not to miss you, and now he was struck with the realization that he might have a child out there with the woman he considered to be his regrettable lost love. A child he didn’t know - a child who he had missed four whole years with. 

What the fuck was going on? 

There were no pictures included with the application, and suddenly, Spencer found himself dying to see the boy. He wanted to know if there was any physical resemblance to himself, or if he was jumping to conclusions. 

Maybe you had cheated on him. Maybe that was why you had left town and never contacted him again. Maybe the kid wasn’t his at all, maybe- 

“Reid.” JJ called out gently, getting his attention. 

Spencer suddenly realized that he was hyperventilating, staring down at the application with your name on it in his hand, wrinkling the paper as he squeezed it more frantically. 

“Did you find something?” 

… 

All in all, the team found four different women who fit the victim pattern in the files - you being one of them. 

So the team split up, ready to knock on each of the womens’ doors, preparing to warn them that if they received any gifts or saw any suspicious men lingering around them in the next few days, they should call. They had to hope that the UnSub wouldn’t move on from this victim pool if he saw the FBI around. But he was overly confident, he had contacted police before. 

It could definitely work. 

When Hotch found out that Spencer had known you, he said that Spencer should be the one to knock on your door. That you might find it comforting to hear that you and your child could possibly be in danger if it were coming from ‘an old friend’. Spencer stuttered over himself and didn’t have the words to explain that you weren’t just a good friend to him, but a romantic flame. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the team by telling everyone that the break-up had been messy, and sudden, and Spencer still wasn’t even completely sure what had caused it. He didn’t want to rip open his old wounds in front of everyone. 

So he simply shut his mouth and got in the car with JJ, and they made their way toward your house. 

…

“So…” JJ’s voice broke through the undulating silence of the car ride - filled by nothing but the sound of the car’s motor running and gears grinding inside Spencer’s mind as he tried to figure all of this out. “I do have to ask the obvious question,” 

“What is that?” Spencer probed, slightly glad to be relieved of his own thoughts. 

He wasn’t so glad when JJ pried those thoughts out of his mind and spilled them to the open air. 

“Is the kid yours?” She wondered aloud. “I mean - when did you and Y/N break up?” 

JJ had known you as Spencer’s girlfriend. 

Come to think of it, she was probably the only person on the current field team who had some kind of a relationship with you back when you and Spencer dated. 

Initially, it had been by accident. JJ had driven him home one night after a particularly long and sleepless case, and you had been coming to his apartment to drop off some books he had asked for (shortly after he had given you a key). When JJ saw you, her natural curiosity got the better of her - even more so when you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself as ‘Spencer’s girlfriend’ without hesitation. 

The two of you got to talking, and JJ invited you to ‘girls night’. You met Elle and Penelope shortly after. You had become pretty good friends with the three of them before the break-up. 

But Spencer had always felt secretive…. well, protective of you. He didn’t want Morgan teasing him about you, or him wanting to have ‘guy talk’ about things that occurred in the bedroom. Not when it might mean talking about intimate moments with you. Spencer had only introduced you to Gideon over coffee about three weeks before the break-up, and that felt like a lifetime ago. 

Back then, having you, Elle, and Gideon leave his life all in a matter of a few months felt like hell on earth. It felt like being grabbed by his ankles and shaken for all he was worth. He really wasn’t sure that he was ready to see you again. 

It had been four years. 

JJ was someone he could lean on right now. 

“Four years ago.” He told her, completely honest. 

“And how old is the kid?” JJ asked. 

“Four - four years old.” Spencer stuttered out, realizing that now as he was speaking about this very real possibility, he might be breathing more life into it. 

“Oh my god.” JJ sighed. “Well… could it-? I mean…? Did the two of you?” 

It took Spencer a moment to clue into what JJ was talking about. He gave her a sideways glance and she took her eyes off the road for a moment, raising her brows and giving him a pointed look. 

“Please tell me you know what does and what doesn’t make a baby,” JJ groaned. 

“Oh!” Spencer huffed, a small wave of embarrassment flooding him. “Yes! God, yes. I know.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Spencer felt the need to clarify his answer. 

“We - I mean. We…” He trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. “We didn’t always use… protection. We were together for three years, at the time, it was on the table.” 

“Kids were on the table for you back then?” JJ asked, clearly shocked by this. “I could not imagine little twenty-four year old Spence with a baby.” 

“Well… it’s something I’ve always wanted.” He mumbled quietly in reply. 

It was true. At the time, Spencer easily imagined himself getting married to you, having multiple kids with you. These days, seeing JJ with Henry and Will brought him the occasional underlying pang of jealousy - but since breaking up with you, there hadn’t been anyone else in Spencer’s life that he could have imagined having kids with. He thought that he was going to be alone and childless for the rest of his life. That the dream was long dead for him. 

“Hey - then, maybe this is a blessing in disguise?” JJ posed. “If we hadn’t been looking through those forms because of this UnSub, you never would have found Y/N again. You wouldn’t even know this baby exists.” 

There was another thing that JJ was dying to ask - something she held back because she felt like it was a touch too personal. (Even if ‘too personal’ was basically how the BAU team lived - knee deep in each other’s business, all the time). 

She wanted to know why you had a baby, a baby that Spencer had very likely fathered, and you hadn’t contacted him about it. Spencer seemed entirely clueless about the child’s existence before now, and JJ knew that because of what his own father had been like, he wouldn’t just blow off a kid that was his if he knew that one was out there in the world. 

So why hadn’t you told Spencer about the baby? 

“What if the kid isn’t yours?” JJ wondered aloud. 

Maybe that would unburden him. She knew that either way, Spencer would fight to protect you from the UnSub. But if the kid wasn’t his - he would walk away again, and he wouldn’t have to be hung up on the heartbreak of dealing with his ex just to parent a child together. 

“Honestly… I think I’ll be more heartbroken if I find out that he’s not even mine.” Spencer told her, his voice quiet and already lulling with that disappointment. 

That was not something JJ had considered. She frowned as she saw the sadness paint across Spencer’s face. 

“One thing at a time, alright?” 

…

When they pulled into your driveway, Spencer’s mind immediately began churning. 

It was a nice house. It was a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. The front yard was clean and trimmed and there was a silver SUV in the driveway with a ‘baby on board’ sticker in the rear window. There was a rocking chair on the porch, but he didn’t see many children’s toys out front on the lawn. He guessed that was a good thing. Letting children play in the front where they could run into the street and potentially get hit by a car was too dangerous. He was glad to already see signs that you were a good mother. 

Spencer felt like he was opening up a book halfway, desperately wanting to be filled in on the previous chapters while having missed so much. Still wanting to read ahead and see more. 

He had already missed so much of your son’s life. He had missed you. That was something forming the biggest knot in his gut. He had truly missed you. The times he had allowed himself to think of you over these past few years - he had missed you so dearly. 

And now the two of you likely had a child together. 

Craning his neck to get a better look, desperately trying to take in more information, Spencer’s eyes were wide and hungry as JJ put the car in park by the curb in front of your house. As Spencer reached for the passenger side door handle, JJ’s phone rang. 

“I have to take this.” She sighed. “You go ahead.” 

She gave Spencer a distinct look that said ‘I know you need a minute alone with Y/N’, and he nodded, stepping out of the vehicle while she greeted whoever was on the other line. He smoothed down his tie - for once in his whole life, he was actually worried about how he looked. Only because he knew that he was going to see you. Perhaps he had only ever felt like this before going on his first date with you. 

He had such a strange lashing of emotions going through him as he approached the door. Fear, anxiety, anticipation. Longing. 

He truly had tried so hard to lock away his feelings for you when you had left. He had tried to move on. He had considered, briefly, in passing, dating other women. There had been times when someone else caught his eye, and he considered asking her out on a date. Morgan had offered to ‘set him up’. Penelope had offered too, telling him that he deserved to ‘get back out there’. 

Whenever she asked about you, his heart freshly cracked open. 

At one point, she had advised him to write a long, Shakespearian letter, pouring out his heart to you in an effort to get you back - one which she would mail. (Because of course, she could get your new address in a heartbeat.) But he didn’t want to experience the heartbreak all over again if you ignored him. He didn’t want to sit, waiting by the mailbox every single day like a lost dog, waiting for you to write him back in return. 

You had disappeared from his life for a reason. Just like everyone else had. For a long time, Spencer convinced himself that he was simply meant to end up alone. 

Perhaps if he had known about your son - a child that could very well be his - then he might have felt differently about getting Penelope to contact you. 

But now he was standing at your front door, his fist shaking as he raised his hand to knock. 

He let out a sharp breath and steadied himself, giving three swift, firm knocks against the door and then trying to wait patiently. His heart thumped inside of his throat, and it felt like forever. 

“Sorry!” Your voice called out from behind the door, muffled. “Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-” 

You cut off your own words as you opened the door - the moment you caught Spencer’s eye and recognized it was him, pure shock fell across your features, and you froze on the spot. 

You were just as stunning as ever. You had barely aged at all - your hair was different than the last time he had seen you, of course. And you were dressed casually - wearing a simple hooded sweatshirt with a drawstring and a pair of jeans with some fuzzy slipper boots on. But pale blue looked so good on you.

So much like the pale blue dress you had worn on your first date with him. 

You were breath-taking. 

“Y/N.” He greeted you, his throat dry already. 

You didn’t say anything, simply continuing to stare him down with wide-eyed shock. 

Seeing you again, Spencer couldn’t help but to think back to that first date. 

The first night that he knew he was in love with you. 

… 

He had taken you to see the Virginia Symphony Orchestra. 

It was Spencer’s idea of a good time - and it ended up being one of the most beautiful, most romantic, most unique first dates that you had ever been on. 

It was difficult not to fall for him with the beautiful music in the air and his glossy eyes, so sickeningly thick with affection, staring you down all night. 

Afterwards, the two of you stopped to get ice cream at a small shop that was a short walk down from the orchestra. And now you were both enjoying your ice cream as you walked along in the cool night air - enjoying the peace and quiet and the gentle breeze in the darkness. 

It was a perfect night. 

Spencer could think of no better way to spend it than with you. The yellow bulbs of the street lights practically cast a glow onto your skin, the mulberry lipstick now worn off your lips as you brought the pink spoon to your mouth and licked up your sweet treat. 

His stomach was churning with nerves. Joyous nerves. 

And as per usual, when he was nervous - he rambled. 

“You know, Bach actually married his cousin.” He said, spouting off the first thing that came to mind. 

You told him that Bach was one of your favorite composers - it’s why he had thought to bring you to the orchestra on a date in the first place. 

“I did not know that.” You giggled. “So what? Was it like a ‘third cousin twice removed’ type situation?” 

Spencer found himself grinning at the fact that you actually engaged him in the conversation, rather than staring at him with an odd look for bringing up such a strange topic. 

“Not quite.” He replied. “They had the same surname before marriage.” 

“Oh, ew.” You chuckled again, giving a shudder at the thought of this. 

Spencer knew it was an odd topic to discuss on a date, and if he rambled on too much, it might freak you out - but he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth ran away with him, and he continued. 

“He married Maria Barbara Bach, and they had seven children together.” He told you. “His sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel became composers and musicians much like their father, which was actually carrying on a legacy started by Bach’s father himself - who was a seventh generation musician. He was the one who taught Bach the organ from a very young age.” 

“Why don’t people play the organ anymore?” You wondered aloud. “Except in churches, I guess. The organ rocks.” 

Spencer’s brain began rocketing off at the fact that you had asked him a question. A question he could answer. 

“The organ has actually long been associated with divinity.” He replied. “The instrument rose in popularity alongside Catholicism throughout the eighteenth century, and in a sense, that was part of what made Bach a sort of ‘rockstar’ of his time. The religious references in his work, and his mastery of the organ - all of it made him incredibly popular at the time because it caused him to be favored by the church and by royal figures associated with the church.” 

Spencer gleamed a large smile, heavily enjoying that he could share these facts with you. He thought for certain that any moment, you would change the subject or imply that he should stop talking. But instead, you engaged the conversation more. 

“Religious references?” You questioned, wondering what he meant by this. 

“Yes!” Spencer grinned, suddenly very excited by the explanation behind this. “Even in his secular music, Bach would often incorporate the acronym ‘INJ’, a Latin abbreviation that means ‘In Nomine Jesu’, or ‘in the name of Jesus’. It was something he put on all of his manuscripts.” 

You grinned back. You found it fascinating that being around Spencer for such short periods of time caused you to learn so many things. It easily made you want to be around him more. 

“Interesting.” You replied. 

“And his talent on the organ was seen as something that made him ‘divine’ at the time. Divine enough to be worthy of performing for royalty.” Spencer added on. “In 1708, Bach got a position as the court organist in Weimer for Duke Wilhelm. And later when he requested early release from this position, desiring to go work for Prince Leopold of Koethen, the Duke actually had him arrested and put in jail for several weeks in 1716.” 

Spencer laughed at this mental image - the composer being put in jail. 

“Ooh, harsh.” You sighed. “But I guess Dukes have too much power.” 

Spencer let out another bright laugh at this. 

“And see, the interesting thing is, Bach later became the conductor of the court orchestra, in which Prince Leopold played.” 

“So he got his wish,” You replied with a smile. 

“And see-” 

Spencer set off on another rant again, and you couldn’t help yourself. You put your spoon into the cup of ice cream and then you used your now free hand to reach out and grab Spencer by his tie - you pulled him toward you before he could get anymore words out, and he let out a shocked, choked-off sound when you pressed your mouth into his. 

He sighed gently against your lips, and unconsciously dropped his own melting chocolate cone on the ground by his feet as his limp hands drifted toward your waist. He was dizzy, and now every single fact he had ever known about any composer had vanished from his head. In that moment, standing under a random street lamp on a random sidewalk somewhere - all he knew was the soft, pillowy feeling of your lips and the cool night breeze against his skin. 

It was perfect. You were perfect. 

You found his intelligence and the enthusiasm with which he spoke to be so utterly irresistible. You had been on so many dates with men before where they had acted like talking about their interests was a chore. Where they had made it seem like the whole thing was simply a routine, waiting for the end of the night so they could get into your pants. And for them, that’s what it probably was. 

But Spencer was nothing like that. 

He spoke about everything with such intense passion - and you couldn’t resist the urge to try and suck that very passion off his lips. 

When you were forced to pull back slightly, your lungs crying out for oxygen, Spencer let out a gentle moan and began puffing out sweet little pants across your chin as he tried to catch his breath. You kept a hold of his tie, wanting to keep him close, and he stayed there, gently pressing his forehead against yours. 

“That was… wow.” He sighed. 

“I didn’t think I would ever find you at a loss for words, Doctor Reid.” You replied with a giggle. 

“Well, I - you - wow.” 

It was all he could muster, causing you both to break down into laughter. 

Back then - everything had been perfect. 

He had no clue where it all went so wrong.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Two - Liar

[ozzgin]

OZZGIN!

May I request an idea/imagine?

It is about yandere! mental asylum patient and psychiatrist! reader, who is very practical and strict regarding her job, takes no BS from others. But, for some reason, she has a soft spot for yandere! mental asylum patient. The reason could either be he had a hard childhood in which he had to do what he had to do, which brutally killed his father, who used to abuse his mother and sister, but when the father tried to sell the sister into prostitution to buy more alcohol, all hell break lose. Psychiatrist! reader thinks what yandere! mental asylum the patient did was OKAY, and she wants to get him out of the asylum. They love each other deeply and would do anything, so far as to kill for one another. If you can, make it as twisted as you can. I live for some dark romance!

Please ignore my request if you are not able to do it. I completely understand. Thank you in advance! <3

Oh my, this request hits somewhat close to home as I have a friend incarcerated for similar reasons. I'm pondering the logistics behind this context you've provided, since murdering someone won't necessarily land you in a psych ward unless there are other symptoms that come with it. And so I've taken the liberty to expand the character's profile if that's alright. (Conveniently enough I still have my psychopathology lecture notes)

I want to add, however, that this story in no way romanticizes mental illness! If anything, one may consider it an opportunity to reflect on the fact that so many people struggling with disorders do not receive the proper care for it, or only do so when it's too late. Furthermore a medical professional should never, ever behave like this and whatever is written here should stay in the realm of fiction!

Yandere! Patient x Psychiatrist! Reader

Featuring a patient that's pushing the boundaries of your work ethic and might even succeed.

Content/warnings: female reader, detailed mentions of mental disorder, violence, obsessive behavior, breach of professional conduct

You roll up your sleeve and check your watch. He should be here soon. Out of habit, you shuffle the papers for a quick case review, even though you already know all the details by heart. You carefully set aside the patient’s MMPI and WHODAS entry assessments, then your first interviews. Your eyes briefly rest upon the resulting report you’ve comprised: Schizophreniform Disorder (Provisional) with good prognostic features; Diagnostic criteria consisting of delusions, disorganized speech (frequent derailment with episodes of incoherence, echolalia) and comorbid catatonia. Responds well to antipsychotic (clozapine 25mg/12 h) with no imminent need for dosage increase. As it currently stands, he will be fit for proper incarceration in less than 6 months. Is it something you agree with? Not quite. You’ve presented your case many times and it has always been met with pitiful shrugs and dismissals.

The door opens and you fix your posture, sweeping the documents back into your drawer. “And? How are you feeling today?” You ask, flashing a professional, cordial smile as the assisting nurse leads the patient to his seat and prepares her leave. “My chest hurts.” The man answers in a low voice, glaring at the nurse. He taps his foot against the plush carpet, seemingly restless. “How bad would you rate it? Chest pain is a somewhat common side effect of your medication.” You retort, following the movements of the woman finally excusing herself and exiting the room. Once you’re alone, the man’s shoulders droop and he visibly relaxes. “It’s not that, you know it. When can I touch you again?” He pleads, despair twisting his features. You tense up at the words. “Behave yourself. It hasn’t been that long.”

It’s not something you’re particularly proud of. In fact, you might even call it one of your great shames in life. You’ve always been a textbook professional, perhaps even too strict according to your coworkers and most patients. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have dared to imagine you’d violate the code of ethics by falling in love with your patient. But something about his situation stirred your sense of justice. Surely one cannot be punished for protecting their loved ones. The only criminal in the equation, at least in your eyes, was that joke of a father and he had it coming. So you found yourself wrestling against a blooming protectiveness and favoritism towards the young man brought here last month.

What would have normally compelled you into action had therefore been silently swept under the rug. Or even worse, you secretly indulged in it. A patient showing signs of affection towards you would instantly be transferred to a different psychiatrist. Yet you couldn’t put away the letters written by this one. Erratic, crumpled notes of “I love you” written countless times, pencil dug so deep it tore into the sheet. Bizarre illustrations that looked almost threatening. His elaborate delusions before medication was introduced, where he’d detail in grand narratives how you were fated for each other and nothing would stop him from having you sooner or later. You do not know what forces possessed you into this addictive plunge, but you’ve come to enjoy his violent, frenzied confessions. So much, that during one of the unsupervised meetings you let yourself pushed into the sofa as his hands tugged at your body in rabid need. It was so out of character that you wondered if it truly happened, though the bite marks and scratches on your neck and chest proved otherwise.

“Are they going to send me to prison?” He changes the subject and stands up, walking towards your desk. “Most likely. What you have is the result of a traumatic event, not a lifelong condition. Sporadic episodes that can be kept under control with antipsychotics aren’t enough of a reason to keep you in the hospital.” You press your legs together nervously and glance at him. “Can’t you just say it’s no longer working?” He suggests, kneeling before you and placing a hand on your thigh. “You know I can’t lie on the report.” You really don’t like it when he manipulates you like this. “Ah, yes, because lying is worse than fucking your patient.” He scoffs, annoyed. “Don’t threaten me like that”, you say as you turn towards him, but you’re stopped by the rough grip of his hand over your cheeks. “I’m not threatening you, I’m threatening everyone else. Listen, (Y/N), I’m not fucking around. I don’t mind pretending to be crazy if I have to. Will the meds still be working if I steal a shaving razor and cut the nurse open?” You try to open your mouth, but his fingers are pressed into your skin, locking your jaw into place. “I’m not going to prison. I’m not. Then I’ll never see you again and that can’t happen. You know that.”

Eventually he releases his hold, allowing you to speak. "I understand. Then there's no choice but to arrange your escape." You sigh, defeated, and he raises his eyebrows. "Won't that get you in trouble?" You chuckle at his statement. "Either way I'll be in trouble. You said it yourself. Might as well quit before I have to stand in front of the ethics board and have my license revoked." You'd prefer to keep the last ounce of pride if possible.

He sits on the floor and you notice his trembling hands. "Nervous?" You ask. "No. Just really happy. I'm not a bad person and you were the only one here to see it. But God, (Y/N), I'd kill anyone if it was for your sake. I can't wait to hold you whenever I want." He gazes at you as a smile widens on his face.

[bunnylovesani]

Cherry Popping

Summary: When you’re left alone with your father’s good friend James Kelly, you try to seduce him- but you soon realise you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

Content warnings: Mild dubcon, loss of virginity, rough p in v sex, fingering, choking, degradation, humiliation, creampie

WC: 2.8k

You’d gotten used to James hanging around- you’d spent many of your childhood summers peering into the garage where he worked with your father. A long time had passed since he was just a mechanic’s apprentice but he maintained a close friendship with your family, often coming by on weekends for a cold beer and catch up. Everything had remained the same for years- everything apart from you.

As you grew older, the way you looked at him changed. Thanks to a fresh influx of hormones, you were filled with a newfound curiosity for him- his familiarity was washed away and replaced with anxious desire. Now prior to his arrival, you’d spritz yourself with perfume and change into something short and pink. Your dad, being endearingly clueless as usual, would comment on how nice the floral fragrance that his princess was wearing was and you’d squeak out “Thanks daddy! Just tryin’ out somethin’ new, ya know?”

As was your routine, you’d skip along happily to the garage whenever you heard the familiar hum of his engine and you’d practise working up the nerve to ask him if he wanted something to drink. He’d flash you a bright smile that made you weak in the knees and usually declined your offer, insisting he could get it himself. You always felt a little saddened, sorely craving the opportunity to show him care and attention with some good old-fashioned hospitality.

On one particular weekend, you’d spent the day attending to your dad- who had elected to stay home from work after battling a nasty virus for the entirety of the previous night. James- ever gracious- came over bearing medicine and various snacks as soon as he found out, stepping into the lounge where your dad lay to crack some distasteful joke and bring him a canister of tea before leaving him to nap.

“I could’ve done that.” You murmured once he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

“No need, we wouldn’t want you catching whatever your old man’s got.” He smiles earnestly and you feel your breath catch in your throat as your mind goes blank, an increasingly awkward silence lingering between you.

“So how is everything, kid? School going well and all that?” He diffuses the tension.

“I’m not in school anymore James.” You giggle at how misinformed he is.

“Ah my bad, I guess I don’t know you as well as I’d like.” He looks away, rubbing the back of his head and you can’t help but admire his gorgeous side profile, choppy dark hair framing his sculpted face.

“And how well would you like to know me?” You mumble, barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry?” He raises his eyebrows and cocks his head at you, assuming he misheard you.

“Nothing- you know, the lightbulb in the bathroom needs changing and I just can’t reach it! Could you help me?” You ask in your sweetest voice, batting your eyelashes.

“Of course, in here?” He points to the bathroom down the hallway, stepping in.

“Yep, the ceiling is too tall and I can’t find anything to step on.” You hold the bulb in your hand and huff defeatedly.

“I’ll go grab a chair-“

“Or you could just give me a leg up.” You interrupt, wanting desperately to feel his calloused hands wrapped securely around you.

“Uh-I mean, sure.” He stutters, realising he doesn’t have much of a choice when your hands make their way to his broad shoulders.

You jump up as his firm grip tightens over your barely clothed thighs and hips, holding you up with bated breath. You pretend to fiddle with the screw of the bulb, prolonging the moment as you memorise every detail of his touch on your skin.

“You got it?” He asks uncomfortably, facing the opposite direction from you.

“Yeah, almost! It’s just so - ugh- damn slippery!” You pretend, making sure to stretch out so that your already short skirt is further raised- hem brushing against his knuckles. “Just can’t seem to get it in…” You mumble and he looks up at you, shooting you an unconvinced glare.

“If you wanted me to touch you, you could’ve just said.” He sighs, unamused with your little act.

“I-I don’t know what you mean James, I’m just struggling with the bulb.” You chuckle incredulously before he drops you a little, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist with a gasp. “James! I-“

“You’ve done enough talking.” He mutters and lowers you against the sink, your legs still wrapped around his torso as he lifts up your skirt, taking a peek at your lace panties. You’re rendered speechless- you don’t know what you were expecting when you were being flirty but it wasn’t this.

“You’re over 18, right?” He stops for a moment, both hands squishing the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Yes, way over.” You huff- how did he still think you were a kid?

“Enough with the attitude.” He grabs you by the cheeks with one hand and stares right through you with steely blue eyes. “You think you’re all grown up now? Ready to be treated like a real woman?” He asks you with such intensity it feels like a life or death matter.

“I am.” You mumble and bite your lip nervously. You had no idea what he had in mind for you but you knew you wanted it all, whatever it was.

“You’re certainly dressed like it.” He inspects your low-cut top and short skirt, now hitched around your hips with your thong on display for him. “You’re asking for it walking around like this. And daddy just lets you? If you were my daughter, you’d never be allowed to parade around my friends dressed like a slut. Perverts would be thinking all sorts of things.” His eyes roam your body, fingers lifting your top and caressing the bare skin underneath.

“You mean perverts like you?” You blink at him innocently.

“Exactly.” A grin spreads across his face as he grabs you by the throat and brings you closer to him, his warm breath on your neck. “I want to ruin you.” He drawled in his husky, deep voice and you felt the damp spot in your panties spreading.

You need him to know how much you want him so you lean in to meet his lips in a soft, touching embrace. You feel his smirk disperse into the kiss and he pulls away, laughing.

“What’s funny?” You curve your eyebrows into an adorable swoop.

“You kiss like a…like a-“

“A little girl?” You cross your arms. “How would you know how a little girl kisses?”

“Don’t be an idiot, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just so….innocent. You kiss like you’ve never been hurt before. Like you’ve already given yourself to me.” He brushes past your cheeks with his knuckles.

“That’s because I have.” You declare as you peel off your top, revealing your bare chest to him in the process since you’d decided to forego a bra. He stares at your perky breasts in awe, cupping one softly and brushing over your nipple with his thumb. His cock twitches at the sight of you exposed all for him, legs spread and tits out while your father was asleep down the hall.

“How pretty…when did these grow?” He notes amusedly as his touch becomes harsher, squeezing them with some force. A shudder spreads over your body as your legs instinctively part, needing to feel him inside you.

“Want me to pop your cherry, baby?” He offers and you wince at his lusty tone. Before you even get the chance to nod in confirmation, he’s pulling your panties down, tossing them behind him.

“You know how this is done, yeah?” He asks with half his attention, focus stolen by the sight of your glisteningly wet pussy.

“Uhuh, I do. I’ve seen it.” You choke out anxiously.

“Of course you do, such a smart girl. Have you been watching naughty videos?” He spreads your thighs with an iron grip, gazing directly into the creaminess forming between your legs.

“Only once or twice.” You insist, worried you were going to get in trouble.

“It’s okay darlin’, perfectly natural to be curious about these things.” He rubs his thumb across your clit and you flinch a little at the unfamiliar sensation. “I bet you’ve been struggling with some new feelings, haven��t you?”

You furrow your eyebrows and hang your head in shame. “I get this fuzzy feeling right there where you’re touching me- and it doesn’t go away for so long! Feels like butterflies and I don’t know how to get rid of them.”

“Poor baby, that sounds so tough. You just need someone to help you out, don’t you? Well that’s what daddy’s friends are for, sweetheart.” He coos affectionately and you lean into his touch, feeling so protected.

“Please help me.” You whine, slender fingers fidgeting with the zip of his jeans.

“Such a needy little thing.” He mutters, pushing your hands away to undo the trousers himself, sliding them off until he’s in nothing but his black boxers. Your face scrunches up in disbelief as your fingertips trail the outline of his cock, girthy and hard.

“Don’t give me that look. I’ll be so gentle, I promise.” He redirects your attention to his voice, cupping your face and kissing you sweetly.

“You don’t have to be that gentle.” You murmur into the kiss and he chuckles breathily, hand trailing back down between your thighs to slip a finger inside you.

You gasp at the unexpected intrusion and grab onto his firm shoulder.

“Shh, it’s alright. Just need to loosen you up a lil’ bit.” He hushes you as he adds another one, strong fingers curling up into your squishy flesh. A soft moan escapes your plump lips and a fire rages in your chest when you look down at the sight of his veiny forearm situated between your spread legs, wetness pouring down his large hand.

“Please…I need it.” You whine into his mouth as he sloppily kisses you.

“Be patient, baby. I’m gonna rip you apart if you’re not ready. This tight little pussy couldn’t take it.” He consoles you, pressing his fingers deeper and deeper inside you.

“You said you wanted to ruin me, didn’t you?” You groan, the feeling of his fingers suddenly woefully inadequate. He sighs and slips them out, resting his palm on the cold basin by your thigh.

“Fine, but I don’t want to hear any crying.” He warns you with a raised eyebrow before slipping down his boxers and releasing his throbbing cock. You’d never seen one before but your mouth watered and your eyes darkened with lust at the sight.

“Be a good girl and spread those legs for me.” Ever obedient, you open them wide as he shuffles in between you, gliding his ridged tip smoothly over your slit- making you shudder every time the soft skin brushed past your swollen clit.

He lazily pushed the tip in, not bothering to warn you beforehand and you whimpered sharply at the painful stretch. He disregards your discomfort and pushes all the way in, bottoming out until his abdomen grazed yours.

Your lips part, threatening to release another cry but he clamps his hand tightly over your mouth before it can spill out.

“Ah, ah. What did I say?” He tuts softly and stares blankly at your crinkled expression. “You can take it. You’re a big girl, remember?” He begins to rock into you, stretching you out so much you have to grip the edge of the countertop, sharp edge cutting into your palms. The hand that isn’t muffling your moans is at the back of your neck, a firm grasp holding you in place on either end. In this position, he has complete control over your body. You are nothing but a fucktoy to be used for his amusement- and he doesn’t even look that amused.

Your breathy, stifled gasps continue with every thrust as you struggle to adjust to the intensity of his thrusts.

“What’s the matter, sweetie? Does it hurt?” He feigns concern but you don’t pick up on his insincerity.

“Y-yes!” You choke back tears, body tensed up as his cock bullied your little cunt relentlessly.

“Good.”

He snakes his hand around your throat and squeezes until you feel your heartbeat pulsating in your neck.

“All I had to do was be a little nice and you let me stick my cock in you.” He leers mockingly. “And with daddy next door, no less. How desperate are you? Are you sure you’re even a virgin?” He swipes a towel off the rack beside him and places it between where your bodies meet. You stare at him in confusion and he smirks.

“This is so he doesn’t hear when I start pounding into you.”

He grabs the panties he tossed aside earlier and gestures for you to open your mouth.

“And this is so no one can hear you scream, baby.” He stuffs the bundle of fabric into your mouth and your eyes widen as he snaps his hips forward, slamming into you roughly. He hooks his hands under your armpits and grips you by the shoulders as he mercilessly pounds into you, the smacks of flesh all but silenced by the towel- apart from the wet sloshing that echoed off the bathroom tiles.

“Do you actually like this? Oh baby, what a sick freak. You really are perfect for me.” He moans at the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your panting growing erratic.

“Can I trust you to be quiet?” He asks and you nod vigorously, wanting so badly to gain his approval. “Yeah? I wanna hear those pretty little moans. But you have to be so quiet baby. Think you can do that f’me?” He whispers into your ear and plants a couple of wet kisses on the side of your face. A string of drool follows as he carefully removes the panties from your mouth, wiping any remnant of spit off your bottom lip with his thumb.

“There we go…” He mutters breathily, the pleasure catching up to him as his thrusts grew sloppier. This is a memory he would cherish forever: the sound of wet squelching as he fucked you into the sink.

He pulled all the way out before harshly burying himself back inside you with a smack of his hips, letting you feel every part of him as if it were your privilege and not his.

You loved the feeling of being caged under him, not able to escape even if you wanted to. The pain subsided and the fuzzy feeling returned, prompted by the way the base of his cock brushed against your clit.

“Aah- oh! Ugh, daddy.” You slurred quietly.

“Silly baby.” He teased. “I’m not your daddy.”

You babbled disjointedly as his hard thrusts sped up, your inner thighs dripping with arousal and sweat.

“Have I fucked you dumb already? Baby doesn’t even know who her daddy is anymore.” He mutters absent-mindedly, staring at the creaminess coating his dick. “I’m doing you a favour, you know? No one wants to fuck a virgin. Too much hassle. So you’re welcome.” He struggles to peel his eyes away from the sight of his painfully hard cock disappearing into your swollen pussy. “Say thank you.” He slams into you especially roughly after you don’t respond.

“Fuck! Th-thank you. Thank you James, thank you so much!” You whine, on the verge of fainting.

“Good girl. Now I’m going to pump you full of my cum- and you’re going to like it.” He sneers and you’re too fucked out to form a response, allowing him to use you in any way he desired instead.

With one final impact, he pounds into your cunt and spills his seed into you, bowing his head to bite you on the shoulder in an attempt to stifle his moans. You can’t do anything but sit there, aching and used up.

He pulls out as his heavy breaths regulate and he sits on the edge of the bathtub, admiring the way his cum leaked out of your abused hole.

“Next time, I’ll teach you how to suck my cock.” He remarks casually and you squeeze your thighs together at the thought of there being a next time.

“Open.” He slaps the side of your leg lightly. “I don’t want to see you wearing panties anymore when I’m around, okay?”

You bite your lip and nod obediently.

“Your dad was right, you really are such a good girl.”

Taglist:

@crazy4hotmen @erinkeifer @mortalheartache @arzua10 @mugwump327 @offthethirlwall @bby-imasociopath @slvttedoutmars @emmalandry

[ssahotchnerr]

Can I request a fic based on these thought ❤️Aaron would 100% be the kind of dad that would spend all night building a barbie house or dolls house and would also very willingly sit and play barbie’s with his daughters.

well worth it

YOU'RE SO RIGHT THAT'S TOO CUTE cw; girl dad!aaron, bau!fem!reader, fluff <3

growing impatient and nearly beginning to doze off without him, you exited your bedroom in search of aaron. you've waited all day to be cozied up with him, and you simply couldn't wait any longer.

you've been comfortably waiting for over an hour; having gone through your full night routine, getting into bed, reading a few chapters of your current read. aaron even came in to change into his pajamas at one point, but trailed out again.

"hey you," you peeked your head into the living room, finding aaron laying stomach-down on the plush carpet. "you coming to bed? it's getting late."

"in a minute." aaron mumbled gently in response, his voice vaguely muffled into whatever it was he had in front of him. "as soon as i finish up here."

you ventured further into the room in curiosity, the closer proximity allowing you to see your daughter's new dollhouse set before him.

your nose crinkled lightly in amusement, a small smile forming on your face. and as if aaron could sense it - he peered up at you, a matching smile on his own lips as he saw your tickled expression, his brown eyes aglow.

"i promised i would have it ready in the morning." aaron admitted with a soft chuckle as he sat up, you scrambling down on the carpet to join him. "it's done, there's just so many damn stickers that have to be in certain spots." he grabbed the instruction pamphlet, studying it for a moment. "wallpaper for every room, that was a pain. things like a bath rug for the bathroom. even some go on the furniture - they're tiny, tiny stickers..."

as he trailed on and on, listing all the details, you fell quiet the more you followed along to his words, your eyes analyzing his face in slight astonishment.

"what?" aaron laughed breathlessly again, his eyebrows furrowing quizzically as he tossed the pamphlet aside, the paper creating a fluttering sound as it fell. he grasped onto the sticker sheet once more, his lips drawing into a frustrated line as he struggled to peel one off - his large hands all to blame.

"it still surprises me out of nowhere sometimes, despite how much time has passed." you shook your head slightly in content, swiping the sheet from his hands. you easily removed the sticker, handing it to him. "you're listing off the necessities for a dollhouse. for our daughter. there was a time where the most i heard you talk was while giving a profile, and just, here we are now. i dunno, does that make sense?"

"completely." aaron agreed as his smile retook form on his face, placing the sticker where it belonged. "happens to me every day. how lucky i am to have you. never thought i'd be dad to another, yet alone a girl dad at that."

"it suits you." you grinned, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "want some help? anything to get you to bed sooner."

aaron looked at the instructions again, a soft hum leaving his mouth as he thought. "again, it's pretty much finished foundation wise. but if you wanna start setting the furniture inside, be my guest darling."

side by side, the two of you worked together, rather giddily at that. quiet quips, playful comments how your own home could use these and whatnot (aaron groaned at your suggestion of wallpaper). warm but soft laughter, to prevent waking up jack and your little girl. you continued to help aaron peel the stickers as needed, and he, the notorious stickler, double checked you were putting items in the correct places 'according to the instructions'. you both knew once your daughter had her hands on her dollhouse, would nothing remain where it belonged, but that didn't stop him from teasing you; "did you put it in the-" "aaron, yes!"

finally, once in bed with aaron at your backside this time, one of his arms draped securely around your waist, you fell asleep with the heartwarming thought that your daughter's very first request in the morning - after her initial excitement - would be for aaron to play dolls with her. and of course, would he comply (just for a bit, and as long as she finished breakfast first). five minutes would surely turn into ten, fifteen, twenty depending on how early she awoke.

such brought up the potential risk of aaron being late to work, but if it allowed just a few more smiles to come from baby girl, it was well worth it.

[clementinegreye]

the sweetest sin of all

aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader ||

summary: in the midst of investigating a serial killer who chooses victims based on the seven deadly sins, aaron hotchner finds himself entangled in more than just the case (inspired by hozier's new song 'too sweet'):

word count: 3.4k

warnings: heavy tension, hurt comfort, crossing professional boundaries and general talks of CM violence and murder (nothing graphic):

a/n: hi! i wrote this entire thing for a friend, but maybe you might enjoy it too! this is my first piece of writing on this new blog so if you like feel free to like, reblog or even just let me know! and hopefully if it goes well there'll be more soon!

a/n update: it went well, here's part two!)

From the dim lighting of the office it was almost impossible to tell the exact lateness of the night. His watch consistently ticking, remained a steady rhythm. He ran a hand across his face, his tie undone and lying, long discarded on his desk. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, unbuttoned and an almost vulnerable step away from his usual armour. Papers containing violence were spread haphazardly and with chaos across his desk. A nearly forgotten glass of strong neat whiskey sat in place of his usual bitter coffee.

His team had been on the case for nearly a week, and Hotch felt they were no closer to catching the Unsub. The whole team was feeling the pressure. The profile told him they were dealing with a moral enforcer, a highly organised, violent offender with a clear mission. It should have been easy for them but bodies seemed to be continuously appearing and everyone was feeling uneasy and frustrated.

He was drowning in the details of this case, the Unsub's pattern ever-present in his mind. He thought of the remaining sins - envy, wrath, and lust - and something burned deep within his chest. It was a dangerous game they played, one where the stakes were higher than any case he'd ever worked on.

Being head of the team he felt the responsibility more vehemently than the rest, and he was doing something he’d promised the team he wouldn’t. He was letting it get to him.

There’d been four victims so far, each killed to match one of the seven deadly sins. So far his victims had been; gluttony - an overzealous upscale restaurant critic who binged food that he slated publicly, greed - a high-profile stock broker with the inability to control his obsession with obtaining more of his client's money, sloth - a wealthy trust fund baby who squandered their university scholarship out of laziness and pride - a wealthy woman with a shopping addiction who frequented beauty salons and had an intense social media presence flaunting herself.

Each victim came from a different geographical area of the city and Garcia hadn’t been able to uncover any crossover between their lives where it might have been somewhere they could have met the Unsub. There were no leads and the team felt at a loss. 

Knowing the Unsub was three victims away from the end of his mission, Hotch knew they were close to losing him if they didn’t catch a break soon. He’d sent the team home to get some sleep and told them to be ready bright and early the next day. Yet Hotch couldn't bring himself to leave the office, hoping the crime scene photos might uncover something he'd missed. He thought everyone had listened to his orders until he was drawn away from the graphic images in front of him by a gentle knock at the door.

"Come in." He croaked harshly, the hours of not speaking catching up to his vocal chords.

It was her. Of course, it was her.

She always had a way of pulling him from the edge, of grounding him when the world became too much. In the chaos and uncertainty of their work, she was his constant, his unwavering beacon of light. She was his solace, his calm in the storm, and in that moment, he allowed himself to get lost in her.

She was like honey, dripping out and pooling where flies could get stuck on the intoxication and drown. He could feel it, the danger she could be. If he’d been a man less controlled he could see how she could be his every downfall and triumph. In her, he saw a reflection of all his desires and fears. She was every strength and weakness. In the moment, he couldn't help but want to drown in the intoxicating allure of her, his deadly and dangerous, yet irresistibly sweet sin.

‘I’m heading home for the night…’ Her voice trailed off in a quiet hush to match the silence of the office. 

The creases in his forehead from pouring over crime scenes and endless theories seemed to smooth out. He breathed out hours' worth of tension in a single breath, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upwards so quickly that unless she’d been a profiler paying attention she might not have noticed. The way his body language shifted was subtle enough to the untrained eye, but not to her. He couldn’t conceal himself in his controlled, cold-edged front as well as he usually could when she was around.

"I gave those orders hours ago." He mused, leaning back in his chair, the breath of a sigh dying on his lips.

She gently shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her. "I thought you might be used to me defying your orders by now, Hotch. You should take your own advice, didn’t you promise to stop working so late," she replied, a glint in her eyes that held an irresistible challenge. Their playful banter was a welcome change from the dark seriousness that he’d been so consumed by moments ago.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief waiting for his retort.

"I didn’t promise anything." He huffed.

She didn’t wait for an invitation, she didn’t need to. Crossing the threshold of his office and making her way to the imposing desk of the Unit Chief.

She’d not seen her boss look so troubled by a case in a long time. Her gaze was drawn to him as his elbows leaned against the desk, his usually impeccable suit dishevelled. She noted the way the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a hint of the man beneath the stoic FBI Unit Chief. It was a stark contrast to the man who was always put together, always in control. Yet, in that moment, he looked anything but. Not yet unravelled, but on the edge of it.

She moved further into the office, she was not someone who second-guessed her decisions. She walked with confidence, and perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting her legs dangle over the edge her black work trousers tight across her thighs. She rested her hand on the desk, dangerously close to her Hotch’s, mere centimetres.

His gaze shifted from the papers in front of him and followed the contours of her face, lingering a moment too long on her lips. He swallowed hard, his mind flickering with thoughts he'd held at bay for far too long. But he was Unit Chief, and professionalism might as well have been his middle name. He lightly shook his head, feeling the back of his eyes burn from the focus he’d had all day.

Hotch wasn’t one to open up, he was always controlled but around her, there was a tug at the stitches of his personality.

‘I have a bad feeling about this case.’ He hummed, the night breeze catching against the window. He could smell her perfume, mixing with the scent of burnt coffee and paper. He dare not think about it too long.

He reached across his desk and grabbed his near-forgotten whiskey, downing it in one drag. He bent towards where her legs were hanging over his desk, motioning for her to lift them. She drew them up towards her chest and he opened the drawer beneath her pulling an expensive-looking bottle from it and refilling the glass, this time handing it to her. Their fingers grazed slightly with the exchange. His warm, hers icy cold - meeting to form the perfect temperature.

‘We have no leads. I always trust the profile, but this case… We’ve got nothing.’ His eyes watched her as she swirled the liquid around the glass, her eyes watching it splash against the sides. He sighed in defeat, rubbing his eyes with both of his hands before leaning his head back, a deep exhale exiting his thin lips.

‘We’ll get him.’ She said confidently, something shifted in her tone. It was like a dagger's sharp edge, certainty dripping off it like blood. He almost believed her, but she could see the already dim light dissipating from his dark eyes. She felt sympathy pooling in the tips of her fingers. If she didn’t hadn’t been holding their shared glass she might have reached out and touched him so that it could bleed from her into him, so that he would feel less alone.

She leaned back slightly, her eyes searching his. It was unclear what she was searching for in them. He couldn’t read her entirely, even with all his years of profiling. When she smiled, he felt his heart catch in his throat. It was like looking directly at the sun. Burning and bright hot.

‘You should follow your own orders… And for once so should I. Go home. Get some rest.’ She downed the liquid with a swift tip of her head. Hotch watched the curve of her neck as she moved and the way she licked her lips catching a fallen drop of liquor. She laid the glass down on the desk, allowing her hand to brush over his. His skin crackled with electricity.

She moved with grace as she climbed down from his desk. That one moment shared more intimate than she’d expected it to feel, with their proximity, the lateness of the hour and the unusually undone Aaron sitting at his desk.

His eyes followed her every movement, skin stinging as if he’d been burned. She was halfway to the door before he heard himself call out to her. It almost didn’t sound like his own voice.

‘Wait. Don’t go yet. Come here.’ His voice was firm like it always was, but there was a depth to it that she hadn’t heard before. One she’d always longed for. His eyes glinted with dark hues as he watched her turn from the door. He almost breathed out in relief.

She had an unreadable expression. One that set the blood in his veins on fire. She lowered her head, and with it, her eyes darkened. He stood from his desk, making his way over to her with steps that felt dreamlike. Their eyes met with an energy never shared before and once in front of her he reached out, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear so that he had an unobscured view of her whole face. The same face that had the power to completely undo him.

Her eyes widened slightly as if surprised by his gentle touch, but at the same time, there was a knowing in them as if she’d been waiting for it all along. She remained still, and his heart pounded in his chest as he looked into his eyes, an unspoken conversation passing between them. It felt like any words would have made the moment less intimate.

His hand lingered against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his touch was a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of his office. Her skin felt like it was burning under him. The silence between them was palpable, filled with the yet unspoken words and emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface. Hotch, usually so controlled in his feelings suddenly felt so unsteady. His heart beat suspiciously with the feeling that perhaps he’d crossed a line.

‘How do you know?’ He whispered, eyes scanning hers as if he were a detective trying to uncover the evidence that gave her certainty. In the light of the office, she looked like she’d been hand carved, art that he’d been lucky enough to be in the presence of. He traced his thumb over her lips, eyes heavy with a mixture of desire and something else she couldn't quite place. It was a dangerous gesture, one that could endanger his whole career.

'I trust you, and that’s all I need to know that we’ll get him.' she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glazed with a devotion that almost made him groan. The conviction of her words pierced his wavering confidence. He’d gone from feeling almost hopeless to buzzing with determination.

He let his hand fall away from her face, but the warmth lingered, an almost promise that what she’d been sure she’d felt moments ago had indeed been real. Reality swarmed his brain, aware of the situation he’d almost found himself in. He straightened up, posture contrasting his relatively dishevelled exterior.

"You’re right, you should follow my orders. Go home, get some rest. I told the team we’d start fresh in the morning," he instructed, a softness in his voice that was rarely displayed. But she didn’t move, and he didn’t either.

He watched her eyes for any sign of discomfort, the tension in the room was palpable, an electrifying current that Hotch didn’t dare to break. Silence blanketed them, only broken by the ticking of his watch. It was a solitary reminder of the passing time, yet the urgency of their case had fallen to the back of his mind.

‘Close the door.’ She instructed, using the same authority that Hotch usually spoke with. The change in dynamic almost made him falter, but with a small smirk, he moved towards the door. He’d been aware of the power imbalance he held in his position but with the tone of her voice, there was a subtle shift in the air between them. She moved back towards his desk with certainty. Moving his name tag so she could perch to face the dark space of the office.

Their eyes met across the room. She tilted her head to the side, examining his body language. As he locked the door behind him, the air seemed to constrict around them, the room becoming a world of its own where only they existed. The only sound in the room was the soft click of the lock and their breathing. It echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and settling into their bones. The tension escalated, but it was different now, charged with an anticipation that neither of them could ignore.

He might have been unit chief, but right here, right now, she was in charge. The line between professional and personal blurred dangerously as their eyes locked, a promise of something more hanging in the balance. The air was charged now, they were poised, daring each other to make the first move. They both knew that they were on the precipice of something dangerous, something that could have dire consequences professionally.

Yet, the pull was too strong to ignore, and for the first time, Hotch allowed himself to teeter on the edge, his resolve tested by the powerful undercurrent of desire that crackled between them. Tonight, they were not just colleagues, they were two individuals drawn together by an irresistible force. In the room, the undeniable chemistry that had been simmering under the surface for far too long had nowhere to hide.

On the desk, she rested each hand palm down to the side of her thighs and opened her legs wider to create space for his body to fit. She moved her head in a motion for him to step forward. Hotch couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, pupils were blown wide from more than just the darkness of the room. How long had he craved something so forbidden, how long had he denied himself the idea that this could ever happen?

As he moved closer to her, he couldn't help but think about the deadly sin of lust, a strong passion or longing that was deemed sinful. Here he was, teetering on the edge of crossing professional boundaries, something he’d never done. The balance of energy in the room was no longer solely from the stress of the case, it was about them - about her. He could have tried to argue that it was, but no jury in the state would believe him. If this were a trial, he was about to be found guilty.

The Unsub's deadly pattern echoed in his mind - the three sins he’d yet to kill for; envy, jealousy over another's life or possessions, wrath, a violent anger driven by hatred, and finally, lust, a powerful desire that can become all-consuming, much like the craving he was experiencing in that very moment. Looking upon her he felt envious of anyone who had ever been allowed to touch her, he felt wrath for anyone who had ever wronged or hurt her, and most of all he felt lust. He definitely felt lust, his desire for her taking over all his senses.

Was he caught between duty and desire? No, he had no doubt in his mind. The sheer intensity of her shared gaze and the way she was beckoning him forward smashed the boundaries of their relationship. He’d never seen her in this light, never dared to allow himself to think of her like this. But now she was in front of him how could he ever deny himself something so sweet?

Hotch had always been a man of control, a man who kept his emotions in check. But in this room, with the charged atmosphere heavy between them, he felt his resolve wavering. He was caught in the powerful current of the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at bay. He didn’t want to be in control anymore. 

He closed the distance between them, fitting himself between her legs, his hands landing on her hips as he looked down at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She brought one hand off the desk to hold the waistband of his suit trousers, tugging lightly.

“Are you finally going to kiss me, Agent Hotchner?” She asked, voice dripping with honey. Sweetness laced with danger that hit him right in the chest like a bullet.

She was an intoxicating mix of all seven, a deadly sin in her own right. She was his lust, his unending desire. She was his gluttony, the one he wanted to consume endlessly. She was his greed, the one he wanted all for himself. She was his sloth, his reason for inertia. She was his wrath, the one who could ignite a fire in him like no other. She was his envy, the one he admired and coveted. And she was his pride, the one who made him feel like he was on top of the world.

‘You will be the ruin of me.’ He breathed, his eyes almost black. He looked down at her taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and satisfaction. He was entirely wrapped around her finger. Tonight, he decided, he would willingly drown in this sweet sin, consequences be damned.

‘That is entirely my intention.’ She chuckled and he groaned, a guttural sound that felt foreign to him.

"Only if you promise not to tell the team," he murmured, a playful undertone to his voice.

As he leaned down to capture her lips with his, he knew without a doubt that this was a deadly sin he was willing to commit. It was both sweet and intense, a perfect reflection of their now complicated relationship.

Her lips tasted of the whiskey they'd shared, sweet with a hint of burn that left him wanting more. She tasted like a curse, sickeningly sweet as if to cause him decay. He deepened the kiss, pulling her impossibly closer. He was standing on the cliff of the unknown, and he was more than willing to jump and fall headfirst.

As he pulled away, he couldn't help but study her face. He’d come face to face with endless serial killers, and been in the presence of pure evil. But he’d never been so close to something so dangerous. She was a temptation he couldn't resist. Sweeter than any apple in the Garden of Eden. He traced the contours of her face with his fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.

He could still taste her on the back of his tongue, sugar and shared whiskey burning. He’d never been so certain that he’d been willing to trade his control for the intoxicating sweetness that was her. She was a forbidden fruit that was too alluring to resist, and Aaron Hotchner had no more resistance left in him. Not now he’d tasted something so delicious.

After all, wasn't life about balancing the deadly sins and virtues? Tonight, he chose to sin.

(you can now read part two here!)

[bunnycvnts]

demonstration

pairing: lowkey psycho!rafe x dumb!reader

warnings: talk of sexual assault. groping. manipulation. sorta noncon/dubcon. gaslighting. talk of drugging and abuse. detailed description of readers body, excluding skin tone/hair color. perv!rafe. use of pet names (bunny, baby, doll). condescending tone + dumbing down reader. objectification. dumbification.

summary: after spotting a pretty little thing across the bar, rafe will do anything if it means he can get his hands on you.

disclaimer: this was written with plus size!reader in mind as i’ve been getting a lot of reqs for more plus size content. but other than some body descriptions, it’s not really mentioned. reader is also new to town, and pretty oblivious when it comes to crimes against women.

drinking at the country club, surrounded by his kook friends and cute little waitresses, rafes attention was caught by laughter. his eyes scanned the room, searching for the culprit, and he landed his gaze upon a pretty girl wearing a pleated white skirt and a baby pink tank top. you were still laughing and engaged in a conversation with whoever was sitting at the bar with you. you were real shy when you caught yourself in slightly anxious situations, like sitting at a bar alone, until the person next to you struck up a conversation. rafe could see your flushed cheeks from across the room, but his eyes didn’t stay on your face for long.

the conversation around him fell on deaf ears as he studied you. his eyes soon traveled down the length of your body as you sat on the bar stool. thick meaty thighs that smooshed together and into the chair, the fat of your ass hanging slightly over the sides of the chair, and your heavy tits resting against the bar counter top. his mouth felt dry, and his cock twitched faintly in his khaki shorts. he forced his gaze upwards and back to your face, your chair angled in a way that allowed him only to see your side profile. your hair was laid flat against your shoulders with small tendrils clipped back, showing off your hoop earrings. rafe loved hoops. he pulled gently at the collar of his shirt, his body now feeling warmer than usual. he wasn’t sure if he’d seen you before, possibly a tourist or from the mainland. he didn’t know, but he planned to find out.

without a word, he left his table and walked with purpose towards you, hardly noticing the much older man in the seat next to you, flirting shamelessly despite your now uncomfortable laughter. he stood on the other side of you, clearing his throat to catch your attention. when you looked over at him, your cheeks were still flushed and your eyes were slightly wide with panic.

“hey. you know this guy?” his gaze flickered back and forth between you and the moron next to you. the other man scoffed, clearly annoyed by this new presence.

“uh no, not really.” you seemed timid, playing with your hands as you avoided eye contact with either of them.

“no, she doesn’t. but, we’re getting to know each other, isn’t that right, doll?” the guy’s voice made rafes ears want to bleed; he’s not sure how you lasted so long talking to him. the guy was eyeing you up like a piece of meat, his hand brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear, even as you shifted away. rafe felt his blood boil at the sight of your discomfort, and even more at the man’s lack of care for it. he was quick to get into the man’s space, pushing his way between the two of you.

“right, right. yeah. and who are you again?” his tone was ice cold, his eyes were narrowed to slits and his arms crossed over his broad chest. the older man stood up, his lack of height in comparison now very obvious by rafes tall form.

“my name is robert, i frequent this club, and id prefer if you’d stop bothering us.” robert’s face was now pale from rafes icy stare and intimidating stance.

“alright, robert. you like fucking with younger girls? you a creep or some shit? i mean, you’re pushing a good 65, and i caught that wedding ring on your finger. your wife not putting out anymore? feel like you need young pussy again? cmon robert, we both know you can’t get it up anymore, so why don’t you leave the pretty girl alone before i take you outside and put you down like a fuckin mutt.” rafes angry words were juxtaposed to his playful tone, and by the time he was done speaking, he was chest to chest with robert.

you stood up abruptly, saying “no, it’s okay. we were just talking, it’s fine. there’s no need for violence.” you were trembling as you put your hand on rafes chest, gesturing for him to step backwards, but all he did was place his hand on top of yours and smile condescendingly.

“oh, bunny, i think there will be if this perverted fuck doesn’t get out of here.” his grip tightened on your hand, and you both watched as robert quickly booked it out of the club after slamming some bills down to pay his tab. after watching robert run, he turned his attention towards you, stepping closer which, caused you to falter and take a step back.

“listen, i really appreciate you for doing that, but you were unreasonably rude. i doubt he was gonna do anything.” rafe tongued his cheek and scoffed, shaking his head. he dragged you outside and cornered you against the wall on the backside of the country club.

“are you serious? he was two seconds away from slipping something in your drink and having his way with you in the men’s locker room.”

it was your turn to scoff and shake your head. “he was touchy-sure and was making me uncomfortable, but people don’t just commit acts of violence in public places. i was fine. i don’t know you and you don’t know me. thanks for getting him away, but he was a harmless old man.”

rafe looked at you like you were stupid, that condescending gaze back in his eyes as he peered down at you. he stepped forward, caging you even further against the wall, his arms on either side of your head.

“you think any man sees your thick thighs and your swollen, heavy tits and thinks of doing anything besides fucking you senseless? are you kidding me? that perv was gonna grope you dumb if you kept talking to him.”

“grope me dumb??? what does that even mean?” you asked him, completely ignoring his comments about your body and instead focusing on his delusional ideas.

“i’ll fucking show you.” his hands fell from the wall and landed on your tits, squeezing the heavy fat over your tank top, pushing them up to spill over the seam. without giving you a second to realize what he was doing at first, he moved his hands again. this time under your skirt, and he felt up the warm plush skin of your thighs until he met the crease of your ass, squeezing the meaty skin in his big hands.

you couldn’t think. his big, calloused hands were draining every thought from your body until he plucked at the seam of your panties. you got a hold of yourself and pushed him off.

“what the fuck. i don’t even know you.” you tried walking away, ignoring the dampness forming in your underwear from his touch. he was quick to pull you back and push you against the wall again.

“see? groped you dumb, it took you forever to realize the reality of the situation and stop me. what if i hadn’t been so nice and stopped when you said to? then what were you gonna do, hm? you need me. i’ll protect you from creeps like that. no man will even think about touching you when they see you on my arm.”

you felt dizzy, not sure if you were comprehending his words correctly. you guess he had a point; his hands had made you freeze, unable to move or stop the situation. what would you have done if that’d been robert, or any other man. you were new to town, didn’t know anyone, didn’t know what places were safe, or even where the sheriffs department was.

you were brought from your thoughts by a light slap to your cheek; it wasn’t rough, but it had caught your attention.

“so, you gonna listen to me and let me protect you or are you gonna leave that perfect little body vulnerable to all the creeps in kildare? because you’re clearly a little braindead and don’t realize a threat when you see one, but that’s okay, bunny. i can fix that.” his face was close to yours, and you could feel his breath on your face, smelling of mint and bourbon. at your silence, he kept going.

his fingertip trailed across your plush cleavage, dipping past your tank top and into the cup of your bra, brushing over your nipple. “look at this, its every man’s wet dream. let me keep you safe, baby.” you could feel his hard cock rutting against your hip, making you whimper. you were at a loss for words, only gazing up at him and nodding as he was still tweaking and pulling at your nipple.

“yeah, you feel that, bunny? you’re too innocent to be left alone with creepy men. this is how you make them feel too, except they won’t hesitate to do something about it. i’m so nice to you already, aren’t i? i’m not like them; i’ll keep you safe from them.”

rafe knew you were shy, he knew it from the minute he saw robert inching closer to you, and you didn’t stop him. rafe knew you needed him, and if talking to you like you were dumb and had no other choice made you realize that, he’d do it happily. he’d scare you into being his. he’d do anything if it meant you’d let him protect you and let him have access to your plush warm body.

after that and throughout the following months, you and rafe got to know each other. you quickly became accustomed to sleeping in his bed, eating every meal with him, sitting in his golf cart while he played, and overall never leaving his side. you’d been scared into complacency, obeying his every word in fear of the dangerous men he often talked about who lived on the island. he said there were many of them—too many for him to call out by name and too many for you to leave the house unprotected.

every night that you spent in his bed was accompanied by rafe showing you exactly what each man would want to do to you. what ideas flooded sickos, creeps, and pervs brains when they saw you. rafe would lay you down or push you against the wall and talk you through it, telling you how lucky you were that this was just a demonstration from someone you trusted, someone who loved you. rather than someone who would only abuse you and fill your holes; there’d be no pleasure in sight for your small body. you’d only be used like a toy by dangerous men, but with rafe he’d love you. after each demonstration, he’d caress your soft skin and spend hours eating you out before giving you another orgasm with his thick cock stuffed inside you, feeling your fluttering and spasming walls clench around his length.

he told you he’d protect you from those men, and if you ever left him, he would be one of those men.

taglist: @sunkissedrafe @mousie101 @cxsmiclore @judessangel @ditzyzombiesblog

[forpiratereasons]

i found a genre of longform videos that is just 8-10 hours of someone driving around freeways during thunderstorms and i have a lot of thoughts about this but also: stede the driver who films long pov driving vids and extremely stressed ed who gets addicted to his channel

it's meditative, and it reminds ed of being in the car with his mum, driving across aotearoa. he feels like she's there with him sometimes. but the more he watches, the more he becomes aware of the driver--a sigh here, the shuffle of fabric in the seat there.

there's almost no information about him on his channel, the gentleman driver, not even a name or a pic, and ed becomes a little fixated on picking up details about him. doesn't happen often, but once or twice ed catches the driver humming a few beats before falling silent again, clearing a throat, sighing, clicking his throat like he's talking silently to himself.

once, on hour six of a ten hour vid, ed's rewarded by the view of an elegant hand reaching across the screen to grab something that must be on the dash in front of the camera. four seconds ed plays over and over.

"is there someone in the car with you while you drive?" ed asks in a comment. "or is it just you?"

the gentleman driver writes back, "just me and the open road!"

maybe it's the format that makes ed ask, the anonymity. maybe he's just half asleep. "don't you ever get lonely?"

it's days before the gentleman driver writes back again. "do you?"

ed's not got an answer for that. or, he does, but not one he's willing to face head on. he asks instead how the gentleman driver chooses his routes.

the driver doesn't get very many comments and definitely not very many questions, and soon they're having little conversations in the comments of every video. ed gets another glimpse of that elegant hand, with a big turquoise ring, freckled forearm; hears another few bars of 'here comes the sun' hummed.

then the driver does something new: he stops at a rest stop.

and he leaves the camera rolling.

ed watches in rapt fascination as the driver crosses the screen in front of the car, goes into the rest stop. blond hair, broad shoulders, floral shirt. he's actually wearing jeans for an eight hour drive which is insane, and ed gets a glimpse of his profile as he smiles. insane.

if the driver's ever stopped before, it's been very carefully edited out. maybe he forgot this one. maybe he wanted ed to see. that's delusional, ed thinks, but he still navigates to the driver's about page and pokes around until he finds an email address.

nice shirt, he sends.

oh god, the driver sends back, and the video disappears from his page half an hour later. i forgot the editing. i'm sorry if it was distracting.

no, i liked it, ed tells him. it was nice to see the man behind the steering wheel. and then, hesitating only a bit, he adds: i'm ed.

hello, the driver writes. i'm stede.

the emails go on, and on, and eventually they turn into texts too, and promises from stede to check in on his longer drives, to "call if you ever need someone to keep you awake."

"i'm supposed to be sending you to sleep," stede argues.

"i'll sleep better knowing that you're safe," ed writes back.

the next video stede posts, he lets the camera run all the way until he's pulled into a parking spot at a roadside motel just outside of denver. the camera runs one minute, then five, and any reasonable person would've turned it off by now, but ed waits until he hears, very quietly: "safe and sound, now. go to sleep. goodnight."

is it stupid, to think you can fall in love with someone after just one sentence? is it still stupid, if that one sentence repeats at the end of every new video?

then one night the phone rings. it's late, dark out, and ed knows stede was doing a drive that wouldn't have him at his next stop until nearly one in the morning. he picks up. "hello?"

"oh, ed," the voice says. "you've no idea how good you sound just now."

it's a voice he's only heard before in hums and whispers, but it doesn't matter. lots of things about love are stupid, ed decides. this isn't one of them.

stede's blown a tire. "i'm okay," he insists. "i was just hoping for some company while i wait for the tow."

"where are you?"

"middle of nowhere," stede says, but when he names the spot, it's only two hours out. ed can be there faster than a tow probably would, and there's a note of anxiety in stede's voice he doesn't much like.

he's got his shoes on and his keys in his hand before he can think twice.

stede hems and haws but in all his fussing he doesn't actually tell ed not to come, and he stays on the line while ed piles blankets in the car and as he gets behind the wheel and as he sets out on the freeway. he stays on the line and they talk until they're both creaky with exhaustion and dry air, and then they're quiet, just like in stede's videos, but together this time. then ed crests over a hill and there it is: a car pulled off to the side with its hazard lights blinking. reminds ed of a lighthouse. 'i'm here,' the lights say. 'i'm here.'

he pulls to a stop behind, starts his own hazards. the driver side door of the car opens, and then there's a leg, and a body, and there he is. stede. he's still got his phone pressed to his ear; ed can hear him breathing.

"i'm going to get out," ed says.

"okay," stede says.

it takes another long moment, watching stede stand there in the dark, waiting for him. stede, with his hair and his voice and his hands and the way the quiet in him already feels like home.

"i might kiss you," ed says.

he watches stede swallow, hard. eyes widen. "okay," he says.

ed reaches for the handle. pops the door open. puts one foot out on the pavement and looks up to meet stede's eyes as his cabin lights come on, as the car starts to ding its door-open warning.

"oh," stede says.

ed takes a step. they both still have their phones in their hands, their breathes in each other's ear. ed takes a step and takes a step until he can reach out to take stede's phone from him. press the call end button.

"hi," he says.

stede kisses him.

after that there are other, shyer hellos, and other, more awkward ones too. there are ten minutes to a 24-hour macdo drive-thru for coffee and another ten to a motel and a late night that becomes an early morning by way of conversation. there's laughter, and more kisses, and careful fingers learning the planes of each other's faces. in the morning there's breakfast and a tow truck and an invitation to a place just two hours away.

and there's a long break in updates to the gentleman driver's channel.

when he comes back, weeks later, his update schedule isn't quite as frequent, and his drives don't usually go as far. there's giggles sometimes, in the background, like there might be someone else in the car with him.

"do you miss it," ed asks. "driving the long drives?"

"no," stede says. "i found what i was looking for."

*

@ kninjaknitter also podficced this one!

[indeepertidesif]

Your mother was a siren, your father a human. Disconnected from the supernatural world, you grew up in sunny California with your parents teaching you how to juggle your secrets and the truth. Then, at thirteen, your mother died.

In Deeper Tides is a Disenchanted spin-off interactive fiction story that takes place on the sunny coast of California (and the oceans that surround it).

In the aftermath of losing your mother, your father encourages you to reconnect with the family she left behind. At 24, you finally take to the ocean, only to receive a chilly greeting in response.

As you struggle to get closer with your mother’s family and heritage, you get swept up in the aftermath of a whirlwind assassination plot. The leaders of your family’s pod are dead, and you’re stuck in the middle of an ages old rivalry that could tear the sea apart.

• Create your character. Customize gender (full customization, including trans MCs), pronouns, and appearance.

• Story based over stat based.

• Romance any of the eight romance options (details below, profiles coming soon).

• Decide how you cope with your family and pod, and choose which side (or none) in a centuries old rivalry.

Rune Flores, he/him or she/her, a siren. The heir of your family’s pod, whose parents were just assassinated.

Thorne Varela, he/him, a siren. A tailless siren, to be exact. The bastard son of an affluential woman, he might be an unexpected ally.

Llyr/Llyra Silvia, he/him or she/her, a siren. The young leader of the pod rivaling your family’s, incriminated in the plot to kill Rune’s parents.

Talya Silvia, she/her, a siren. The younger Silvia sibling, and by far the most dangerous of the two. She’ll protect her family at all costs.

Malak ‘Mal’ Faris, they/them, a siren. An elite guard tasked with protecting Rune in the aftermath of unrest following the assassination.

Aster/Astra Solis, he/him or she/her, a siren. The spy of the Silvia family accused of the murders and set for execution.

Yan Liang, he/him or she/her, a human. A marine biology major working down by the docks. They’ve seen more than they should’ve, and the consequences might be dire.

Haakon, he/him, an unknown. A creature from the depths of the ocean that wants to save others because he couldn’t save his family.

[onlyjaeyun]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟐𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩 (𝟏)

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐯𝐬𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟐𝐤 (not proofread!)

↬ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐄𝐎.

"Is this your first time on a private jet? You seem so nervous."

Jongseong says playfully, his eyes roaming your pretty face as he allows himself to take in your side profile and every little detail of it.

You've been staring out of the little window for the past five linutes, nervously fidgeting with your jewelry and desperately trying to find a comfortable position in your large seat.

And despite the fact that Jay's more than just aware of your current emotional state, he can't get over how good you look in his private jet. It's like he chose it to fit you and your visuals all those years ago and for a moment he actually loses himself in the mental image of flying you around the world.

But, just as usual, all those thoughts and fantasies will remain nothing but illusions. Considering the fact the CEO's been trying his best to come up with a way to tell you about what he's been up to these past few days, Jay's had no choice but to accept every single one of your possible reactions. The ones where you don't hate his guts and actually stay by his side are his least favorite, simply because they give him false hope and his heart can't take any more of that.

Jay's very much aware, why his actions are morally wrong and even if he doesn't actually regret them, he wholeheartedly understands why you'd eventually react the way you probably will.

But regardless ofyour reaction, Jay always stands true to his words, so no matter what, he'll make sure to fight for you until the day you devote your whole life to someone else and even after that, he'll forever hold you close to the most sacred parts of his heart.

The longer he looks at you, the more he loses himself in the sweet embrace of your presence and the mere thought of having to let go of you hurst his soul but at the end of the day it's nobody's but his own responsibility to take.

As you turn to look at him with those pretty eyes of yours, Jay feels himself ringing with his own conscience as the urge to keep you safe and protected from the things he's been dealing with overwhelms him but he knows he has to tell you.

"I've actually never been on a plane before", you reply and chuckle nervously, your words surprising your boss and for a moment you feel slightly ashamed, only for all those worries to disappear as soon as Jay's lips stretch into a gentle smile.

"It's overrated, really", he says and from the honest expression in his eyes you know he's serious, "it might be a little scary at first but once we're in the air it's quite nice."

"Thank you for the reassurance, Sir", you sigh and finally feel your body relax, yet there's still this little bit of tension lingering in your muscles.

"Do you want me to sit next to you? Maybe that'll make you feel a little less anxious", Jongseong hesitates a little with his offer, just because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable.

He knows you're basically dating Kim Jiwoong at this point, his friends have made sure to let him know about every single picture you've posted in relation to him and Hao's been quite enthusiastic about the two of you and even if he hates your boyfriend's guts, he'd never want you to think he doesn't respect you and your relationship.

On top of it all, to you, he's still just your boss, no matter how much he wants to change that, he'll have to accept it for now.

"Unless you don't feel comfortable then–", "Yes, please, Sir", you suddenly blurt out and look at him with big, glossy eyes and for a moment the whole world comes to a stop.

Jay has bever seen eyes as pretty as yours and with every passing minute of your little plea echoing in his head, he feels like he's going absolutely crazy.

Without another word, Jongseong casually gets up just to plop into the big seat right next to yours, a big smile on his lips as he finds comfort in the thought of you associating him with safety and protection.

That's all he wants. To protect you and keep you safe, to heal your wounds and take care of you the way you deserve it. There's this urge in the depth of his chest which becomes more and more unbearable as time passes.

You have absolutely no idea what's going on in your boss's head as your gaze shifts to meet his, yet the way his eyes are filled with nothing but adoration and gentleness has your heart skipping a beat.

This can't happen.

Not when you've actually started accepting the way things are between the tweo of you.

Not when you've finally come to the point where admiring and adoring him from afar has imprinted itself onto your brain.

Not when you've barely stopped yourself from falling in love with him.

You're quick to avert your gaze again, too scared of possible consequences it might come with and as you turn away from him, you miss the wave of disappointment washing over his features.

But it's okay. Jay know you're not quite there yet. He knows you need time even if he's currently running out of just that.

With a soft sigh, you watch the pretty stewardess politely greeting the two of you before she offers you something to drink and then proceedss to fo through the security checks with you.

You're not even necessarily scared about flying, but the general concept of something so big and heavy flying in the air with absolutely no problems sends shivers down your spine.

As the engine of the plane starts, you feel all the colour disappearing from your face, your hands tightening their grip on the seat as you try to prepare yourself for what's to happen.

You have no idea what to expect, yet the last thing your mind would have ever come up with is the suddenly feeling of Park Jongseong's big hand gently pulling yours away before intertwining your fingers with his own.

With your brows raised in surprise, your head basically shoots into his direction and all of a sudden, this very familiar feeling of being absolutely safe and protected overwhelms you.

"Tell me about the boys from your block", he suddenly says and smiles at you encouragingly, "it'll distract you and if it gets too much, just squeeze my hand, okay? Can you do that for me?"

For some reason, the softness of his usually so stern voice sends a jolt of hot arousal into the lower regions of your body and if it wasn't for the anxiety crippling up in your bones, you would have pressed your thighs together to just get rid of that awful tension in your cunt.

"Yes, Sir", you whisper and subconsciously mimic the way Jay's deeply inhaling and exhaling, his action essily calming your strained nerves and before you can give it another thought, you find yourself rambling about those few boys you've come to love and appreciate in the past three years.

You tell him about Doyeon and Seyeon, two brothers whose parents have abandoned them after their seperation, who have basically worked extra hard for everything they've achieved in all these years of being alone.

Of course you don't forget about Woohan, the young boy who has amde it his mission to interrogate every single guy who comes to pick up his favorite noona, just to make sure she doesn't get her heart broken again.

A little hesitant yet still enthusiastic do you start talking about the three oldest boys who have actually gotten into several physical fights with your ex boyfriend when he refused to accept your decisions and still showed up at your doorstep.

Jay never once looks away from your face, he takes in everything you say and saves it in the back of his mind as he can't help but adore you even more for the devotion and love you have for those kids.

By the time you start rambling about the other kids, the stewardess suddenly comes back and lets you know that taking off your seatbelts is okay now and with your brows furrowed in confusion you look at your boss, who's still firmly holding your hand.

"We're in the air now", he chuckles and gently caresses the back of your hand with his thumb, "you did so good for me. I'm proud of you."

His words hit you like a tonne of bricks, right in the stomach.

It takes you a whole minute to regain your composure because you've never been praised before. There's not an ounce of faux sympathy behind his words, every single one of them is honest and genuine.

He's actually proud of you.

"T-Thank you so much, Sir", your voice is a mere whisper and for a moment you actually contemplate whether or not to just crawl onto his lap and stay like that for the rest of your life.

You just know his hugs feel like the comfort of a home you've never had.

"You know you can call me Jay or Jongie, whatever you feel more comfortable with", he suddenly says and gently pulls his hand away from yours, not ready to push his luck, "but I don't mind the Sir either. Please, just know you're one of the few people who can call me whatever they want."

Yeah, at this point Jay's definitely not referring to his own name anymore.

You might think it's about all the formalities, when in reality there's a very specific yet oh so forbidden title flying around in his head and since your very first day, Jong's been daydreaming about hearing you call him just that.

Yet another fantasy he'll have to keep hidden in his heart and his mind forever.

"I know", you sigh and push your lips into a pout, "I just respect you a lot and it feels weird calling you by your name. I promise I'm trying my best!"

You chuckle softly and play woth the hem of your skirt, not realising just how much Jay is currently enjoying the close proximity of the two of you.

"I know you are, Y/N. You always do", he replies calmly and the longer he looks at you, the more his heart breaks as he thinks about how this might be one of your last conversations.

He's definitely going to miss your voice. But also the enthusiasm in everything you say as well as your precious smile.

"Have you looked at the menu yet? I know you were too nervous to have breakfast so don't hesitate to choose multiple dishes", Jongseong says and leans back in his seat, throwing his head back to calm his racing, aching heart only for the pain to get even worse.

The following hour is filled with random conversations about your mutual friends as well as both of you checking E-Mails, responding to a few and setting up a schedule for the next week. Jongseong actually manages to keep you busy enough to the point where the landing basically rushes past you.

Neither one of you gets the time to settle into the apartment first as you barely make it on time to your first meeting of the day due to traffic.

Once the third and last meeting of the day rolls around you're utterly exhausted. You've been the one to set up and organize his schedule for the past four months and despite recently starting to follow him around as his personal assistant, you would have never expected it to be even more exhausting and stressful than the ones in Seoul.

The thought of Jay working so hard all the time breaks your heart because from Yeonie's as well as Sunghoon's stories you can tell he barely has time for himself.

And as you find yourself in the backseat of the company car right next to him, you can't help but let the urge to take care of him and take some off the pressure and weight off his shoulders take over you.

Not even in a sexual manner but rather being there for him, showering him in affection and words of affirmation, giving him the energy and attention he deserves and just being his personified comfort.

Unfortunately those thoughts will forever remain nothing but part of your daydreams.

Once the two of you make it to his apartment, you feel the exhaustion of your twelve hour day finally get the best of you and all you can think about is taking a nice shower and them jumping into a bed which probably costs more than your monthly rent.

Jay casually greets the people in the lobby with a stern smile, his phone pressed against his ear as he waits for his mother to pick up and for some reason you can't help but feel slightly envious.

You wish you had a parent to call at the end of a day like this and the more you listen to the heartwarming conversation between your boss's and his mum, you feel this very familiar heaviness pn your chest returning to its place.

"This is your room", Jay suddenly whispers as soon as you pass one of the two bedrooms at the right end of the big hallway and with a grateful nod you thank the portier for his help and push your suitcase into your assigned bedroom.

You'd lie if you said watching Jongseong open the door to the room right across from yours didn't surprise you but for some reason you're not nearly as uncomfortable as you initially thought you'd be.

Knowing yourself the exhaustion and tiredness of today is gping to be enough to keep those stupid nightmares away and hopefully give you a full night's sleep.

After inspecting the room as well as the bathroom, which easily leaves you stunned with their sheer size, you're just about to take off your sweater when the sudden but gentle knock on your door startles you.

"I know you just want to rest but there's something I need to talk to you about", Jongseong says through the door and maybe it's the tone in his voice or maybe the choice of words but regardless of the reason, it triggers your anxiety and within a single second your heart starts thrumming in your throat.

You make your way to the door, yet can't even get yourself to focus as you try to think of possible reasons why Jongseong might be upset with you. You start going through every single meeting, every sentence, every single word you've uttered the past few hours just to realise that this was by far one of your best days on the job and that might be exactly why you're even more nervous.

While you're desperately trying to read his tone, Jongseong's about to throw up from the anxiety and pain boiling in his blood.

He's never felt like this before.

Everything he's done in his life he stood behind. Every decision, every action, every sentence, every word. So why is it that he'd rather set himself on fire than owning up to his actions and dealing with the consequences this time?

Maybe because this time he actually has someghing – someone to lose.

Maybe because this time he's going to be the reason for your pain and your tears.

Maybe because this time he's going to turn into his biggest nightmare.

But no matter what, he has to tell you about this. If he really wants you to know how much he cares about you and your well being, there's absolutely no going back from this.

Yes, he did what needed to be done all while being fully aware of your possible and understandable reaction, but none of that makes this any easier.

As soon as you swing open the door, Jay lets his eyes roam your face; the fesr and nervousness in your besutiful, soft features make his heart drop into his stomach and with a soft sigh he accepts his defeat.

"Don't be nervous, you haven't done anything wrong. You did excellent today." The words of reassurance leave his lips before his brain can overthink them and Jay actually hates himself for giving you yet another glimmer of hope just to shatter it all with his confession.

"Okay", you finally let out the breath you didn't realise you were holding in, "come in, please."

Jongseong watches the way you lead the way to the little couch on the other side of the room, patting the empty seat next to you with the sweetest smile on your lips and for a moment he actually considers keeping this little secret to himself just a little longer.

He can tell how much you're struggling to read his body language and he's unapologetically glad about it. He doesn't want you to see how miserable and pathetic he feels.

"Do you remember what happened the night of Sunghoon' birthday, Y/N?"

That's good. A question to start the conversation and see just how much you remember might make leading it into the right direction a little easier.

Might.

"Not really", you reply shyly, a little embarrassed yet aware that Jay would never judge you. Call it a gut feeling.

You carefully watcv your boss shift in his seat, he's already gotten rid of his jacket and the vest, leaving him in a simple white dress shirt and the fact he's rolled up his sleeves does not help your chaotic mind at all.

Why did he have to be so fucking attractive anyway?

"You were quite drunk, so I thought it'd be best if I brought you home so I did. Dohyun helped me bring you inside and once I lay you onto the couch, I thought you had fallen asleep but you had actually started crying."

Jongseong tries to stay as neutral about it as possible, simply because he doesn't want you to feel embarrassed or ashamed but from the way you suddenly hide your face behind your hands, he obviously didn't do a great job at that.

"No, stop", he quickly says and reaches for your wrists before wrapping his own around your hands and pulling them into his lap, "it's okay, really."

"I feel so ashamed", you whisper and feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, "I'm so sorry, Sir."

"Don't. Tears aren't something to be ashamed of", Jong's rather fast to stop you from overthinking his words, something he's been doing a lot more than you had realised these past few weeks.

"What I'm about to say isn't about the fact you cried, it's the reason for your tears", he explains and for the first time since the two of you had met, Jay actually looks away first as the shame now gets the best of him.

"Oh", you say and attentively let your eyes roam his side profile, the pretty little birthmark on his neck catching your attention the way it always does and beforr you can kose yourself in thoughts of kissing it, you pull yourself back into reality.

"You kept talking about your brother and how the things he's said are true", Jay finally manages to say, the words heavy on his tongue, the anger and wrath for your family even heavier on his chest, "and I really need you to listen to me first before making any decisions, okay? Please, Y/N, hear me out first and then you can hate me as much as you want."

"W-What? Why would I hate you, Jay?"

Your voice is small and fearful. His words and the lack of eye contact genuinely scare you because if you didn't know what to expect when he knocked on your door a few minutes ago, you're even more clueless now.

How could your mental breakdown about your brother's behavior possibly lead to a reaction like this from him?

"Because I – fuck – I did something I'm not proud of. I take full responsibility and accountability for my decisions and don't regret any of them because I know I did it all for you. To protect you, to keep you safe."

In response to those words your heart slams into the bottom of your stomach and you subconsciously dig your nails into his skin, yet not letting go of his hands as you crave his presence now more than ever.

"J-Jay, what are you talking about?"

The confusion and fear of what's to hit you breaks his heart into thousands of pieces but he knows he has to do this.

He has to.

He can't build anything on lies. He's not his father. He has to keep it absolutely real and honest with you or he'd be nothing but a cheap copy of the man he's despised all his life.

"I care about you a lot more than you think, Y/N", he whispers and for the first time in months, he feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his heart breaking agonisingly slowly for the tenth time within just a few minutes, "and not just in a boss-employee kind of way."

If it wasn't for the feeling of his warm skin against yours and his beautiful face so close up to yours, you would have actually believed this current situation to be a dream.

How the fuck did you go from being exhausted and tired to adrenaline pumping through your veins because your boss, the one who's not only rejected you before but whom you've been trying to forget about for weeks, is basically confessing to you right then, right there.

But for some reason you can't let yourself indulge in the relief and happiness filling the tiniest bits of your heart; the air too heavy and intense.

"Jay, I don't understand what's going on", you whisper and finally allow the tears to find their way down your cheeks, "you rejected me."

"I know, Baby, I fucking know", Jay suddenly hisses through gritted teeth, his anger belonging to nobody but himself for making you go through this when he could have been more mature about this literally three weeks ago, "but I only did it because I thought it's the best for the both of us."

"You broke my heart", you breathe and move to pull your hands away from his grip, only for him to scoot closer with them still in his own, "I thought you didn't want me because I'm not enough."

"W-What?"

Jongseong never knew a single human bei g could experience this much pain from just a few words but your honest confession has shown him a whole new level of torture.

"I thought I was–", you bite back a soft sob, barely able to hold it together as the memories from that night start flooding back into your head, "not pretty enough. Not hardworking enough. Not good enough. I thought you rejected me because I'm not a girl like – Shiah or Miyeon."

Hearing those names from you actually makes his broken heart skip a few beats and i that exact moment Jay decides to devote his whole life to make sure thoughts or doubts like that never, ever cross your precious mind again.

"Oh, angel girl", Jong sighs and wraps his fingers around your arm, gently pulling you closer to his body snd before he can even initate it, you find yourself straddling his lap.

Everything you've been holding back these past few weeks, all those bad thoughts and doubts, emotions and words are finally getting the best of you and as you bury your face in the crook of Jay's neck, you feel the burden finally being lifted from your shoulders. And your chest.

"I've never, ever seen a woman like you, Baby", Jay whispers into your ear, one of his big hands gently caressing your back as the other massages your scalp and for a moment everything about your current position feels like a dream.

You've only given him your hand once, on your first day. And yet here you are, comfortably seated in his lap.

And nothing has ever felt as good and right as this.

"Yes, you're not like them and that's exactly what's driving me crazy about you. Please, forgive me for ever putting those doubts into that precious brain of yours."

And just as usual, you can't find it in you to doubt his words and the meaning behind them. Jongseong doesn't lie and you know this.

"Look at me, Baby", Jongseong breathes softly, his heart hammering against his chest as his body finally processes the fact that you're actually sitting on his lap, "come on, I wanna look at your perfect face."

You hesitate a little, too aware of your tears and too overwhelmed by his confession.

Your body isn't playing along and your brain's a complete mess. All you want to do is fall asleep exactly like this, yet you also can't get yourself to deny his gentle request.

"There you go, that's my good girl", Jay gulps harshly as the words leave his lips, he knows he's overdoing it but he doesn't scold himsemf for it as he knows this won't last and he has no choice but to make the best of it.

"My pretty girl", a soft sigh hits your face and you finally allowe yourself to mimic him as you lift your hands to take his perfectly sculptured face into your palms, "I'm so sorry I'm making you go through this. I did something unforgivable."

"N-No", you say quickly and shake your head, too captivated by just how much pretuerwhe is this close up, "it's okay. We can work through this if you still if want to."

You pause a little before looking back up into his eyes again.

"If you still want me."

The way Jong starts nodding his head almost hysterically startles you, but doesn't fail to ease thw heaviness on your heart at the same time.

"I want you so bad, Baby", Jay gulps again, thsi time barely swallowing his tears, "but I know you won't want me once you know what I've done."

Yet again, a wave of confusion hits you.

"I thought you meant the rejection", you say and look at him with a blurry vision, "what else – have you done?"

A beat of silence fills the room. The tension is thicker, heavier, stronger than ever and for the nth time within just a few hours Jay feels the urge to simply run away and never look back. But how could he ever leave you, his precious girl, behind?

"After you cried in my arms about the things your brother has been telling you about, Sunghoon told me you don't have any contact to anyone in your family so I've had someone look into your family because I wanted to know what you've had to deal with."

And in that particular moment, you can actually hear the shattering of your heart before the sharp pain rushes through your veins.

You feel yourself freezing in the midst of your touch, tears simply running down your cheeks as the feeling of betrayal overwhelms you.

Yet, different than you would have expected from yourself, you actually manage to mutter the first question that pops up in your completely empty brain.

"W-Why?"

"Because", but the words stay stuck in his throat as a veil of tears blurr his vision at the realisation that he's actually lost you now.

"Answer me, Jongseong", you say, your voice still as small as ever, your heart too broken for your body to raise it's volume and all of a sudden the feeling of sheer mental and emotional exhaustion finds its way back into your veins.

"Because I wanted to hurt them."

And there it is. Nothing but the actual truth.

Something he's yet to admit to himself because even if your safety and protection are and will forever remain his number one priority, the urge to revenge your pain has made itself comfortable rathee high up that list.

"What?"

This time, that tiny word holds actual confusion.

What does he mean? What is that supposed to mean? Why would he, someone who doesn't even know your brother's name, hurt him? All because you cried because of him?

"They hurt my Baby and I wanted to hurt them back. Every single one of them. Every single one of your brothers. I wanted to destroy their lives and have them regret the way they treated you for the rest of it. I wanted to take revenge for you, Baby", the last word is nothing but a whisper.

"But – wait – you know what they've done to me? What they've put me through? How – did you have someone hack into my phone? Be fucking honest with me, Park Jongseong."

All this time Jong's been craving to hear his name from your lips but now he actually despises it. All this anger and disappointment in your voice makes him hate his own name and everything it stands for.

Yet, just as he's told himself, there's now backing out of this.

It's the truth and nothing but the truth from now on.

"No", he says quickly, and looks at you with teary eyes, "I had him look into your family only. Their financial, medical and criminal records, no chats or phones and any other devices."

"Wow", you breathe and pull away from him yet for some strange reason you don't feel the need to get off of his lap.

No matter how hurt you are, you're not quite ready to let go of this feeling just yet.

"I'm sorry", Jay finally apologizes, "I know I should have just asked you but after hearing you cry so much and talking about yourself like that I just couldn't help it. You're – just the thought of people hurting you has my blood boiling."

"You just hurt me", you say and hate how your bottom lip suddenly starts shaking as another row of tears find their way to freedom, "I just – feel so betrayed, Jongie."

His name is drowned in one of your soft sobs but to his surprise, you don't pull away even further but rather bury your face back into his neck.

Maybe he hasn't lost you after all.

"I know, angel girl", he sighs and allows his own tears to stream down his temples as he throws his head back and pulls your closer against his strong chest, "I'm so fucking sorry."

"S-Sorry isn't enough."

A few moments filled with nothing but the sound of your sobs fill the silent space of the room, each one slashing a knife through his heart and pushing him even deeper into the pain of hurting you, his most precious treasure.

Telling you how he feels wasn't supposed to be like this.

Jong loses track of time as he tries his best to calm you down and by the time your cries finally die down, he notices the steady movement of your upper body and the lack of motion in your limbs.

You cried yourself to sleep.

In his arms.

Because of him.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: the promised cliffhanger BUT dont worry, next chap's written too so i'll give y'all exactly what asked for 🫣 thank you so much for all the love babies, you're truly the best! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!🩷🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jjaeyuns @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @soiimo @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @lhsvibez @azurez @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @glitterssim @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

[skyfullofpods]

Hello fans of Re: Dracula who were introduced to fiction podcasts through the updates from our good friend Jonathan Harker! Now that the story's over (sob!), would you like some recommendations for some other audio dramas that you might enjoy, made by some of the folks who worked on the podcast?

Jonathan Sims, who played our local phonograph enthusiast, is the writer of the hugely popular horror podcast, The Magnus Archives. The Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute records statements made by members of the public, detailing strange encounters with the supernatural. What soon becomes clear is that these statements do not describe separate and unrelated events, and a bigger and horrific picture begins to emerge. Also appearing as recurring characters in this series are both Sasha Sienna and Alasdair Stuart.

Karim Kronfli is a prolific voice actor, and while he might be best known for his roles in both Re: Dracula and The Magnus Archives, he has voiced a wide range of characters in many different fiction podcasts. Out of all the ones he's appeared in, I would personally recommend urban fantasy anthology series, Unseen. The unseen world exists alongside ours, but only a few humans can see it. It's a world where magic and magical creatures exists, and Karim's character tells his story in episode 7, titled We Ourselves.

Beth Eyre and Felix Trench played twins Antigone and Rudyard Funn in Wooden Overcoats, a British sitcom set on the tiny fictional island of Piffling, in the English Channel. The twins run a funeral parlor together, the only one on the island, until a newcomer arrives. Eric Chapman (played by Tom Crowley) sets up a much more successful funeral parlor, and the story is narrated by the Funns' house mouse, Madeline.

Alan Burgon plays the Interviewer in The Amelia Project. The Amelia Project is a secret organisation, and clients come to them looking for their help in faking their deaths. The Interviewer listens to each client's story, before concocting unique and often elaborate ways in which they will stage their deaths, before being reborn into a new identity.

David Ault is also a very recognisable voice to anyone who spends a considerate amount of time listening to fiction podcasts, and The Kingmaker Histories feels like an appropriate choice here. A weird steampunk series set in the Valorian Socialist Republic in 1911 , this story involves found family, its own intriguing magic system, and being gay and doing crime.

Our favourite cowboy, Giancarlo Herrera, plays one of the protagonists in sci-fi action/thriller, Primordial Deep. Spinner is part of a team which is sent deep beneath the sea to investigate the resurgence of creatures thought to be long-extinct. There's plenty of horror to be had here, as something ancient is stirring in the depths of the ocean.

As for the crew? Tal Minear works on so many podcasts, and if you like fantasy stories, I would recommend the delightfully lighthearted Sidequesting, which follows new adventurer Rion, as they help people on their travels. If you would like some more horror, there's their spoiler-driven anthology series, Someone Dies in This Elevator.

Hannah Wright's Inn Between is a fantasy series based on D&D. Each episode follows a party as they meet in the Goblin's Inn, in between adventures, as the tavern follows them around wherever they go.

Stephen Indrisano's upcoming docu-horror Shelterwood promises to be a series which explores the horror of suburbia, as it follows one man's quest to find his missing sister. Until this is released, I would recommend Do You Copy, in which Stephen plays one of the protagonists. This found footage horror series follows the events which unfold after the closure of Red Tail National Park, and the people who were left inside the park, after its mysterious closure.

Ella Watts is regarded as a walking encyclopedia of all things audio fiction, and has worked on several high-profile projects, including directing both Doctor Who: Redacted and Marvel Move. Her upcoming Camlann is a post-apocalyptic series due to be released next year, inspired by Arthurian legends and British folklore. She is also the executive producer of Tin Can Audio's (who are also producing Camlann) beautiful experimental series, The Tower. The protagonist of this story, Kiri, leaves her life behind to climb an impossibly high tower, making phonecalls along the way.

Newt Schottelkotte's Where The Stars Fell is a supernatural fantasy set in the town of Jerusalem, Oregon. Cryptozoologist Dr Edison Tucker arrives in the town to carry out some research, and meets her roommate, author Lucille Kensington. There's so much more to this strange town than first meets the eye, with a huge revelation at the end of season one.

If you're new to fiction podcasts, welcome! I hope this short (ish!) and very much non-comprehensive list gave you some ideas of what to listen to next!

[hotchsofficialwifey]

okay hear me out... mike schmidt with goth!fem!reader (be warned: i'm not goth so this might not be very accurate lol)

he met you while he was working at the mall, eyed you from across hot topic. despite your intimidating black clothes, chains, and eye makeup, you had one of the sweetest smiles he'd ever seen, instantly drawing him to you. you said good morning to the worker with one of those perfect smiles and he immediately felt butterflies in his stomach.

he started hanging out at the hot topic more frequently. he began to pick up on your schedule, too. you'd usually come on Saturday's between 12-3pm, circle through the food court and your favorite stores (one time he even caught you at Victoria's Secret, but didn't go in, for obvious reasons). he felt a little creepy, but it wasn't like he was stalking you, just keeping you safe (this was his bullshit excuse). some part of you was simply magnetic, pulling him in like a siren, wrapping him around your finger so tightly he never wanted to be let go.

after a few weeks or so of this same routine, he got fired for beating up a man in broad daylight, and had to get a shitty job at Fazbear's Pizzeria. the only part of that job he missed was you, but his yearning would soon come to an end. he went on various apps, websites, whatever he could to find a babysitter for abby while he was at work, when he found your profile on one of the apps. you were around his age, lived in the same town, and were looking for a job as a babysitter. perfect! he got in contact with you shortly after, and you were fast to reply. you set up a day, time and location, and the next night you were there, knocking on his door.

it was as if the closer he got to you, the prettier you were. pink lips overlined with black liner, flared black jeans paired with a Siouxsie and The Banshees t-shirt, eyeliner so sharp it could probably poke him and black converse covered in doodles. you were more casual than usual, obviously, but god, you were beautiful. you hit him with one of your dazzling smiles, introduced yourself to him and abby (abby instantly liked you), and he went off to work, the scent of your sandalwood perfume on his mind.

you got closer over the months you babysat abby. he came home early in the morning, but you always made breakfast (not only were you beautiful, but amazingly sweet). he didn't pay you as consistently as you originally hoped he would, but you were begin to grow a crush on him, so you didn't really mind. it got to the point where you two even exchanged numbers, using work as an excuse, but you mostly talked and sent memes to each other. but what he admired most about you is how good you were with abby. you guys drew together, watched cartoons together, laughed together, you even did tarot readings for her. abby would fill him in on every little detail of your night together, start to finish. she adored you, and you adored her, which only made him fall harder for you.

the love confession was unexpected, but really sweet. he had invited you over for dinner before he went to work, which he often did, but after you put abby to bed and sat down on the couch with him...

"thanks for everything you do for us." he blurted suddenly. your face suddenly felt very warm, and you bashfully replied.

"it's no big deal, really. i like spending time with abby..." fuck it, you thought. "and with you." you stared at each other for a moment, tension in the air, before he kissed you. slowly, softly, easing you into it. it got heated quickly, and one thing left to another, and he was forty minutes late for work (but it was so worth it).

a/n: okay, this wasn't as focused on the goth part as I wanted it to be, but wtvr. i'll be doing headcannons for goth!reader later!! for now, here's some backstory lol

[toxicanonymity]

Fandango

2.1k / stepdad!Joel x fem!Reader /Stepdad

Warnings: I8+ mdni. Stepcest (reader is aggressor but he's a perv), big girthy age gap, groping, grinding, jacking off, oral m receiving, angst. Picks up after All Recipes. 🦃 Nothing has happened with the Mom, so ignore that hypothetical drabble.

When you get to the theater, Joel reaches over you to get his glasses out of the glovebox and the stretch of his shrunken sleeve makes you reach out and touch his ungodly tricep.  He ignores the touch, puts his glasses on, and puts the case back in the glovebox.  Inside, the manager changes the tickets for you.  You pick the back row, prompting a cautionary look from Joel. 

💙

Your Mom notices the casserole is off-recipe as soon as she looks at it, and she's not happy.  You glance sympathetically at Joel.  He resists the urge to bring up how she wouldn’t tell him where the recipes were, sparing you a tense car ride to Thanksgiving at your Aunt’s house.

In the car, your Mom asks, “Did you buy the movie tickets, Joel?” and you tell her you got them on Fandango.  It’s a tradition for the three of you to go to a movie on Thanksgiving, largely so you can have a set time to leave the family gathering, which will otherwise drag on forever. On the way to your aunt’s house, Your Mom wants a recap of the whole Hunger Games franchise since it’s been eight years since the last one came out in 2015. You do your best and Joel stays quiet.  She picked the movie. 

-

You and Joel haven’t talked at all since this morning when you kissed for the first time in the kitchen. He avoids you for most of the meal, but when he does look at you, he’s looking at you differently.  His eyes are pensive, concerned, but his brow is softer. It's like a puppy dog look.

An uncle asks if you’re seeing anyone, and you say “kind of.”  The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches.  When they press for more details, you tell them you might have a date this weekend and his face hardens.

“Is he handsome?” Your aunt asks. 

“I think the term is ‘hot’ now,” Your uncle corrects her.  “Is he hot? Can we see him?” He elbows Joel like he should get in on the teasing. Joel musters half a smile but it doesn't reach his eyes. 

You pull up your tinder match’s profile and let them take a peek.  

“Oooh,” your aunt says. “He is handsome.  Jacques. . . is he French?” 

Joel takes a sip of his drink, then glares out the window and chews his cheeks.  The glass in his hand shatters under the pressure of his fist, covering his shirt in iced tea and making two of your aunts spring into action to help. 

“Joel,” your Mom says.  “No, no,” the hosting aunt responds.  "These are too delicate. I just broke one the other day.” None of it got on the table.  Your aunts take him to the kitchen to clean him up.  Meanwhile, you try to explain to your uncle what tinder is.  Joel returns to the table wearing only his shrunken undershirt and pants, looking somewhat humiliated and smoking hot.

-

On the way to the movie theater, your Mom gets an emergency call, and Joel suggests rescheduling for a later time so she can come, but she isn’t sure when she’ll be available.  You already have the tickets, and she insists the two of you drop her off at home and go ahead without her. She’ll join if she can.  Joel looks distressed at the prospect of going alone with you. 

"Kiss and make up already," your Mom says on her way out of the car, referring to the argument she walked in on earlier about his shrunken clothes. 

When you move up to the driver’s seat, he says “Don’t get any ideas.”  

“We should see the new Exorcist instead,” you say. 

“What if she tries to join?”

“She’s not going to.” He knows you’re right. “Come on,” you plead.  “It’s David Gordon Green.”

“Alright, if it’s still playin'.” 

He clenches his jaw in silence for a minute, glaring at the road ahead, then asks “What’s this about Jaques? You really have a date or just tryin’ to fuck with me?”

"What, if you can't have me no one can? That's fucked up."

He sighs, exasperated. "No shit.".

“We’ve had this conversation,” you continue. "When you got all pissy about that pic being on insta?”

“Yeah, and you deleted the pic."

“Doesn't mean you were right, I was just using it to get you to jack off. “

"God, you're filthy."

"So yeah, maybe I'll go out with him. If you won’t touch me, can't expect no one else to."

"Touched ya this mornin’, didn’t I?” He raises his eyebrows and looks at you cockily. 

-

When you get to the theater, he reaches over you to get his glasses out of the glovebox and the stretch of his short sleeve makes you reach out and touch his ungodly tricep.  He ignores the touch, puts his glasses on, and puts the case back in the glovebox.  Inside, the manager changes the tickets for you.  You pick the back row, prompting a cautionary look from Joel. 

You raise the armrest and he lowers it between you again. The theater is cold and he’s freezing in his undershirt and slacks, but it’s the hottest combination, especially with his glasses.  When his nipples harden from the cold, you reach over and grab his pec. He gives you a side-eye but lets you massage him for a minute before he takes your hand and puts it on your side of the armrest.  You grab his hand while it’s there and place it on your lower thigh near your knee.  He swallows and shifts in his seat but doesn’t resist.  He stares straight ahead.  He lightly caresses your thigh over your leggings.  

When you move his hand higher up on your thigh, to the hem of your sweater dress,he gives your thigh a brief squeeze before taking his hand back.  He adjusts himself in his pants  then puts his elbows on each armrest, clasping his large hands in front of his stomach and staring straight ahead at the movie.

You leave him alone for a while, then slip your hand under his arm and into his lap, squeezing his thigh. You lean in as close to him as you can. He inhales sharply and doesn't do anything about it. You work your way higher and higher on his thigh until your wrist brushes his hardening cock, flooding you with arousal. You keep your hand on his thigh, rubbing it in a way that rubs your wrist on his package. You feel it getting firmer and it's driving you crazy.  

"Not doin' this," he whispers.

"What?" You stop moving your hand but don't take it away.

"Back of the theater like a couple'a teenagers."  That's what he says. . . but what you hear is we can do it somewhere else. 

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and he slowly, regretfully returns your hand to your side, taking his arm back right away this time. You behave for the rest of the movie.

-

On the ride home, you ask him to stop by your apartment so you can get something. You keep your hands to yourself as he drives. You're getting a new TV on black friday and want to bring your current one to your room at their house. When he parks, you ask him to come in and help you carry it.

He walks into the living room and you say "make yourself at home, I've gotta unhook everything." 

He manspreads on your couch while you bend over and make no effort to be modest as you unhook the cables.  You turn around and he's brazenly staring at your ass, holding his massive hand on his inner thigh. He watches you with puppy dog eyes as you stand up and cautiously approach him.  He slowly rubs his inner thigh and wets his lips.  He makes no effort to stop you from climbing into his lap and even moves his hand to make room for you to straddle him.  Your crotch goes straight to his, and you cradle his head with your thumbs in front of his ears.  You read his face and it’s open.  You press your lips into his. He closes his eyes and opens his mouth, feeding you his tongue as his large hands come to your back.  

You roll your hips into his hardening cock. His hands slide down your back to your ass and he grunts into your mouth as he pulls you into him, using your crotch to rub his hard package. You dip your tongue into his mouth and he accepts it hungrily with light suction. Your mouths make love to each other and you softly moan into each other’s lips as you breathe through your nose and grind into him. 

Your clit throbs and your cunt begs to be filled. He wedges his hand under you, between your legs, engulfing your entire crotch.  He slides the hand back and grabs at your ass from underneath you, his middle finger pushing your leggings slightly into your crack.  Then he rubs all the way forward again from your lips to your clit with a deep breath.  His middle finger ghosts your entrance and he groans at the dampness of your leggings. 

You break away from his mouth and reach your wrists around his arm in his lap, leaving his hand between your legs, stroking you, as you  unbutton his slacks. You rise up and pull down his zipper.  He nudges your breast with his nose, then drags it across your dress to your other breast.  You  reach your hand into his pants, groping him through his boxers with your fingers pointed down and your palm hits the damp spot from his tip.  Then you slip your hand into his boxers and break the kiss to whimper into his mouth as you move the warm, smooth skin of his shaft and he ghosts your clit over your leggings. You wrap your hand around his shaft in an upright fist and sit back down on his thighs. 

Joel murmurs into your cheek, “this is dangerous, sweetheart.  Bein’ alone like this.” He reaches down between you and frees his cock from his boxers, then pulls your crotch into him and moans as the soft shape of your lips cradle his shaft through your damp leggings.  As you grind into him, you watch his face and his brow furls. 

“I know you want it,” you pant and his mouth latches onto your neck. 

His hand wraps around yours.  He pries your fingers off his cock and takes it in his own hand. Then he slides his hand into your leggings and gathers  your slick to lube himself.  He starts stroking his stiff member feverishly.  You’re miffed that he wants to come already.

“What are you doing?” you ask. 

“Told you, this is dangerous, sweetheart.”

“Well at least let me do it.”  You dismount him and get on the floor between his knees. He sighs and looks straight up at the ceiling as you take his cock back into your hand.  You form a broken ring round his lower shaft with your thumb and two fingers, then you bring your head to his lap and suck the tip of his cock into your mouth, followed by most of his shaft.  

“Fuck,” he exclaims, startled by your mouth. “Use your hand,” he pants. “Just your hand,” he trails off weakly, his eyes drifting downward toward you.  You try to make eye contact with him and he looks back up at the ceiling.  “HAND,” he demands.

You take it out of your mouth to ask why.

“‘Cause I’ll never stop seein’ this, damnit.” You begrudgingly use your hand. 

He sucks in a chest full of air and his thighs tremble like he’s about to come.  

“Can I swallow it or do you want it all over your clothes?” 

“Fine."

After a few more strokes, you take him into your mouth again and he shoots his salty load into the back of your throat. 

-

His arms look ready to burst through his t-shirt as he carries your tv to the car. You drive in silence, looking out the window. 

Then you wonder out loud, "What if we just fucked? Would that be so bad?" 

He looks at you as though to say come on, but you raise your eyebrows inquisitively. 

He says, "Okay, let's play it out." He clears his throat. "We fuck, then what?"

"We fuck again."

He rolls his eyes.  "Okay, but what happens?"

"We fuck again, and again, and we keep fucking" 

"Christ," he exhales, then adjusts himself. "I'm tryin' to have an adult conversation here." 

“Okay,” you say.  “How’s your marriage?”

“How do you think? You’ve known her your whole life.”  He looks at you like you did something wrong. “Don’t ask me that.” 

“How’s it an adult conversation if I can’t ask any questions?”

He groans in frustration.  

It's silent for a few minutes.  When you look over at him, he has his hand on his mouth.  He’s tearing up.  “This is fucked up,” he says weakly, then takes a deep breath. "We can't keep on like this."

-

As always, thank you so much for your support and engagement <3

Special ty to @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for getting me over the hump on my roadblock <3<3<3

-

All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy 

-

@vickie5446

[redroomreflections]

II HANDS II HEAVEN

Notes: I listened to Beyonce's album and wanted to write something to this song

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 4.5k

It will be like five chapters.

"Any leads on who's joining Natasha for the upcoming couple's retreat mission?" Steve's gaze shifted from the itinerary to the team gathered around him, his tone commanding authority.

"I believe Natasha's our primary agent for this one," Wanda replied, her head tilting in contemplation.

"Indeed, but it's a couples retreat, so we need another partner," Steve clarified, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Someone who can blend in seamlessly."

"Can I offer myself up for sacrifice?" Sam quipped, raising his hand in mock enthusiasm before quickly retracting it under Natasha's icy glare.

As the meeting progressed, you were drifting away, lost in your thoughts. It wasn't your first time excluded from the team's high-profile missions. They always cited your need for further training, claiming you could not work as a cohesive part of the team. But deep down, you knew it was just an excuse—an excuse to keep you sidelined while others got to shine.

You couldn't help but feel frustrated by the situation. You'd worked hard to hone your skills, to prove yourself worthy of being part of the team. Yet repeatedly, you found yourself overlooked, and relegated to the sidelines while others took center stage.

As Steve discussed the details of the upcoming mission, you couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that gnawed at you from within. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that once again, you wouldn't be chosen to join Natasha on the mission.

Not that you particularly want to. You and Natasha aren’t exactly bosom buddies. You found yourself mostly keeping your distance from her. There was an unspoken tension between you, a mutual understanding to maintain a polite distance.

Instead, you gravitated towards Wanda and Vision, joining them for several movie nights. As a third wheel in their relationship, you often found comfort in their company, even if it served as a temporary distraction from your own frustrations.

Occasionally, you'd join Sam and the other guys for some lighthearted banter and training. But even then, you never found yourself alone with Natasha. She remained elusive, keeping her distance and maintaining her mysterious persona.

Despite the distance between you and Natasha, you remained focused on your own goals and aspirations. You refused to let her presence—or lack thereof—determine your worth as a member of the team. You were determined to prove yourself, even if it meant forging your own path separate from hers.

Joining the Avengers has been an exhilarating yet unexpected journey for you. It couldn’t be more different from your wildest dreams. The initiation process felt more like something out of a gangster movie than a superhero team induction. Three months ago, you decided to defect from the government organization you once served. Spectra Intelligence Bureau had built you up to do their bidding. Only to let you down time and time again. You had seen women come and go from the field, only leaving behind shadows of their former selves.  You hadn’t known so soon you would be following the same path. You joined the Avengers for a chance at redemption and freedom. But your defection was far from voluntary, despite what everyone else believes.

You had always been a skilled operative, adept at blending into the shadows and manipulating situations to your advantage. You were a master of espionage, trained from a young age to infiltrate enemy organizations and extract valuable information without leaving a trace.

But beneath the facade of a loyal government agent, you harbored a deep-seated resentment towards the organization you served. 

For years, you played by their rules, carrying out missions that blurred the lines between right and wrong, morality and duty. You became disillusioned with the endless cycle of violence and deceit, longing for a way out of the tangled web of lies you had woven around yourself.

Now, as a member of the Avengers, you keep your head down, wary of drawing too much attention to yourself. You know that the consequences of your past actions could come back to haunt you at any moment, threatening to unravel the fragile semblance of peace you’ve fought so hard to achieve.

“I volunteer y/n,” Tony said with a slight smirk. 

Tony's declaration draws your attention back to the meeting. His smirk doesn't escape your notice as he volunteers you for the mission with Natasha. It's a typical Tony move, laced with a hint of mischief and a touch of amusement.

You felt a surge of mixed emotions at his words. On one hand, you're grateful for the opportunity to finally be included in one of the team's missions. But on the other hand, you can't shake the feeling of apprehension at the prospect of working closely with Natasha, especially given your less-than-amicable relationship.

Still, you know better than to protest. This could be your chance to prove yourself, to show the team—and Natasha—that you're capable of rising to the occasion. With a nod of acceptance, you steel yourself for the challenges ahead, determined to make the most of this unexpected opportunity.

“Y/n and Natasha as a couple?” Bruce spoke aloud. “How would that work out?”

Natasha remained composed, her expression unreadable as she met Bruce's gaze. There's a flicker of something in her eyes—maybe surprise or curiosity—but she quickly masks it behind her usual poker face. She offers no comment, keeping her thoughts on the matter to herself.

Tony chuckled lightly, clearly amused by the idea. "Well, they do say opposites attract," he quips, flashing a grin in your direction. His tone is light-hearted, but there's a glint of mischief in his eyes, hinting at his underlying intentions.

From his side of the table,  Sam raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Well, that should make for some entertaining mission reports," he quips, his tone teasing. 

Natasha's voice cut through the air, her tone firm and unwavering. "I need someone who's going to pull their weight," she stated, her gaze piercing as she addressed the team. There was no room for ambiguity in her words, each syllable laden with expectation and determination.

 "Well, I assure you, Natasha, I'm more than capable of pulling my weight," You replied, your tone cool but tinged with an edge of irritation. 

Natasha's gaze lingered on you for a moment, her expression unreadable. There was a hint of apology in her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the unintended slight in her earlier statement. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise," she said quietly, her voice softening slightly.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to lead,” You turned away from her understanding gaze. Your competitive and cutthroat attitude had no business here but you were determined to prove a point. 

Natasha's response was measured, her voice carrying a hint of steel beneath its calm exterior. "I understand your desire to take charge, but this isn't about proving a point," she replied evenly, her gaze steady as she met your eyes. There was a silent challenge in her words, a reminder that leadership wasn't about ego or competition—it was about trust and cooperation.

You felt a surge of defiance rise within you, unwilling to back down from the challenge Natasha presented. "Maybe not for you," you countered, your tone edged with stubborn determination. "But I know what I'm capable of, and I'm not going to sit back and play second fiddle."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your words, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "I respect your confidence," she conceded, her voice tinged with a hint of admiration. "But leadership isn't about proving yourself—it's about putting the team first and making the tough decisions when they need to be made."

“Leadership is also knowing when to let go of the reins,” You shrugged. “Unless you’re wound too tight to do that?” 

Natasha's expression hardened at your words, her jaw tightening imperceptibly as she met your gaze with a steely resolve. "I may be many things, but 'wound too tight' isn't one of them," she replied, her tone cool and controlled despite the undercurrent of irritation that simmered beneath the surface.

There was a palpable tension in the air as the exchange hung between you, the unspoken challenge lingering like a storm cloud on the horizon. Despite your attempts to provoke a reaction from Natasha, she remained composed, refusing to let your barbs get under her skin.

"You may have your way of doing things, but don't mistake confidence for arrogance," Natasha continued, her voice quiet but firm. "True leadership requires humility and the willingness to listen to others, even when it's difficult. I can’t have you out in the field making mistakes."

You felt a surge of frustration at Natasha's response, the sting of her rebuke cutting deeper than you cared to admit. But beneath the surface, there was also a begrudging respect for her unwavering commitment to her principles.

As you exchanged one last tense glance with Natasha, a silent understanding passed between you. 

“I’ll do it,” You said. From the corner of your eye, you could see Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up. You had to admit you liked a challenge. This should be fun. Your declaration hung in the air, a bold assertion of your readiness to take on the mission. You could feel Natasha's gaze on you, sharp and assessing, as you made your decision known.

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you met Natasha's gaze head-on. You liked a challenge, and this mission promised to be anything but easy. 

As the tension between you and Natasha lingered, a familiar voice broke through the silence. "Alright, let's get down to business," Steve's voice rang out, commanding attention as he stepped forward. 

With a glance at Natasha and you, Steve cleared his throat before launching into a rundown of the mission details. "The retreat is called 'Shady Corners,' owned by Ilanka and Maxim Belinsky," he began, his tone businesslike as he relayed the information to the team.

But before Steve could continue, you found yourself interjecting, unable to resist the urge to jump in. "Actually, I've already compiled a dossier on Shady Corners," you stated, your voice cutting through the air with confidence.

Steve paused, a hint of surprise crossing his features as he turned to you. "Oh, you have?" he asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

You nodded, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Yes, I took the liberty of gathering all the pertinent information," you replied, producing a file from your bag and handing it to Steve.

As Steve flipped through the dossier, his surprise was evident. "Well, it looks like you've done your homework," he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Natasha's gaze flickered between you and Steve, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "Looks like we're in good hands," she quipped, a subtle acknowledgment of your preparedness.

“I would kill to be a fly on the wall,” Sam whistled.

Sam's remark drew a few chuckles from the team, his words laden with playful insinuation. 

Natasha's lips quirked into a wry smile, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she exchanged a glance with you. 

"I have a feeling it'll be quite the performance," Natasha replied, her tone dry but tinged with a hint of something you can’t quite place. 

Tony's announcement brought a sense of finality to the meeting, his hands clapping together with a decisive clap. "Great, you'll have a flight booked for the morning," he declared, his tone brimming with anticipation. With a nod to the team, he declared, "Meeting adjourned."

The tension in the room dissipated, replaced by an air of excitement and anticipation. 

With a grin, you exchanged a final glance with Natasha, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. 

This should be fun. 

********

So this marriage was turning out to be something you’re not fond of. Natasha had J.A.R.V.I.S. wake you up at the ass crack of dawn which you were able to ignore for a long while. Then came the pounding on the door of your bedroom before you finally awakened from your slumber to open it. You didn’t even bother to wipe the drool from your chin before you ripped the door open with a frown. 

As Natasha stood in front of you, her expression bordering on disapproval, you couldn't help but feel a surge of annoyance bubbling within you. Her disdain for your choice of attire only fueled your defiance, and you squared your shoulders, refusing to back down.

"What?" you retorted, your voice tinged with irritation as you met Natasha's gaze head-on. "Flight is in three hours," she informed you, her tone clipped and businesslike.

You blinked in disbelief, the early hour registering belatedly in your sleep-addled mind. "You're kidding..." you muttered incredulously, turning to glance at the digital alarm clock on your nightstand. "It's three a.m."

Natasha's expression remained impassive, her gaze unwavering as she waited for your response. Despite the early hour and your less-than-ideal state of readiness, there was a steely determination in her eyes that took no argument.

With a resigned sigh, you realized that there was no use arguing with Natasha. 

"Come in, I guess," you grumbled begrudgingly, gesturing for Natasha to enter your less-than-impressive bedroom. It was far from the tidy, organized space you typically preferred, a reflection of your rebellious attitude toward your former living standards.

With a roll of your eyes, you strode over to your closet, rummaging through it to grab a suitcase. Meanwhile, Natasha remained near the door, her posture tense and guarded, as if she were bracing herself for whatever chaos might lie within your room.

You couldn't help but feel a bit of annoyance at Natasha's standoffish demeanor, but you pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. You began to toss clothes into your suitcase and prepared to leave. 

"We should maintain a few basic things between us," Natasha suggested, her tone matter-of-fact as she broached the topic of their fake marriage. "You know, for the sake of appearances."

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Natasha's suggestion, a hint of skepticism creeping into your voice. "Such as?" you prompted, curious to hear her ideas on the matter.

Natasha paused for a moment, considering her response carefully. "Well, for starters, we should probably establish some ground rules," she replied, her gaze ripping from the dropped thongs you’d scraped up from the floor to toss into the hamper to your eyes. "Nothing too elaborate, just enough to sell the illusion of a real marriage."

You nodded in understanding. "Agreed," you replied, a sense of determination settling over you. “So quick to set up rules though. Shouldn’t we know more about each other? I mean, we’re supposed to be a married couple right.”

“I suppose,” Natasha sighed. “Is this going to turn into a 21-question thing?”

“No, not right now,” You shook your head as you zipped up your suitcase before you pushed it to the side. You grabbed another carry-on bag, stuffing your makeup and the rest of your toiletries inside of it. You disappeared into the bathroom where you quickly brushed your teeth and washed your face. 

This left Natasha alone to her vices. Though she never moved from her spot she noticed things only a spy would. Her eyes landed on the books haphazardly stacked on your nightstand, and one in particular caught her attention—the "Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois." The choice of literature spoke volumes about your intellectual depth and cultural interests.

Moving her eyes around the room, Natasha's eyes lingered on the movie posters on the walls. 

In the corner, she noticed a collection of paint easels. 

With each observation, Natasha's respect for you grew. There was more to you than met the eye. 

“Right now, I need coffee,” You mumbled as you dragged yourself out of the room and past her. J.A.R.V.I.S. would lock the door for you. 

“Seriously? “ Natasha asked asked incredulously, her voice cutting through the air as you hurried past. 

“You won’t like who I become when I’m hungry,” You rolled your eyes. If she was going to have you up this early, the least she could do was not judge your choices. 

You made a beeline for the kitchen, groaning as the harsh fluorescent lights automatically flickered on. Tony needed to update these settings for something dimmer and less jarring. Ignoring the discomfort, you forced a K-cup into the Keurig, desperate for the promise of caffeine to wake you up.

As you turned around, you were met with the sight of Natasha sitting at the counter, her gaze fixed on you with a fierce intensity.

"I hope you're going to take all of this seriously," Natasha said, her tone firm and unwavering.

You paused, meeting Natasha's gaze with determination. Despite your initial reservations about the mission, you knew that Natasha was right. This wasn't just a game—it was a high-stakes operation that required your full commitment.

"Of course I am," you replied, your voice steady despite the tiredness that still lingered in your bones. 

Natasha studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then, with a nod of acknowledgment, she rose from her seat and joined you at the counter. Together, you prepared your coffees in silence, each lost in your thoughts. 

"You take it black?" You asked, tilting your head inquisitively as you prepared your coffee.

"What? Like my heart?" Natasha replied with a wry smile, her tone laced with a hint of humor.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Natasha's retort. "Fair enough," you remarked, handing her a steaming cup of coffee. "To black coffee and black hearts, then."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "To get the job done," she countered, clinking her cup against yours in a silent toast. “Now can we get to the airport please, before we’re late?” 

“Oh, we won’t be late. I want to enjoy this.” You hummed. 

It was then that Natasha reached up to remove the baseball cap from her head, her movements fluid and practiced. As she fluffed her hair, you expected to see her familiar luscious red locks cascade down her shoulders. However, to your surprise, the vibrant red was replaced by a cascade of blonde hair.

You blinked in astonishment, momentarily taken aback by the sudden transformation. How had she bleached it so quickly? Had she slept at all? Natasha's hair was iconic—her fiery red locks were as much a part of her identity as her skills as a spy. 

As you adjust to the surprise of her sudden hair transformation, you couldn't help but blurt out, "Whoa, blonde? I never would've guessed. You look... different."

Your words hung in the air for a moment, and you immediately regretted them as you noticed a subtle shift in Natasha's demeanor. Her smirk faded, replaced by a stern look that hinted at a simmering annoyance beneath the surface.

Natasha's jaw tightened imperceptibly, her green eyes flashing with a hint of irritation. "Different?" she echoed, her tone cool and clipped. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

You winced, realizing too late that your comment had struck a nerve. "I... I didn't mean it like that," you stammered, scrambling to backpedal. "I just meant, um, it's a change, you know? But you still look great, of course."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your attempt to smooth things over, but the tension lingered between you. "Thanks," she replied tersely, her tone still tinged with annoyance. “We’re going to be late,” Natasha mumbled as she dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. 

“We’re not going to be late.” You called after her. 

******************

"So, you're telling me no more flights are heading to Miami today?" You asked the flight attendant, a hint of irritation coloring your voice.

"No, ma'am, unfortunately, we're booked up for the entire week," the flight attendant replied apologetically, her tone sympathetic.

You sighed, frustration mounting as you realized the setback to your plans. "Is there anything you can do? It's urgent," you pressed. 

The flight attendant shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but all our flights are fully booked. You might have better luck with another airline," she suggested.

You couldn't believe it. You can't believe it. Because you were late, your seats were given to some other lucky couple.

Frustration bubbled up within you as you stood there, watching helplessly as the plane doors closed without you. 

Natasha's sharp gaze bore into you, a silent reminder of the consequences of your tardiness. You knew you had messed up, and now you were paying the price.

"We need to figure out our next move," Natasha stated firmly, her voice cutting through the chaos of the airport.

"We could rent a car," you suggested, hoping to salvage the situation with a practical solution.

"And drive a car to Florida for twenty-three hours with you?" Natasha replied tersely, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You bristled at her sharp retort, feeling a pang of offense at her implication. "Of course," you nodded, trying to maintain your composure. "Unless you have any other suggestions. Flying a Quinjet into Miami isn't exactly subtle of us."

Natasha's expression softened slightly at your response, a flicker of understanding crossing her features. "Fair point," she conceded, her tone less biting than before. "I’m choosing the car."

“Anything for you honey,” You shook your head, your voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Natasha shot you a pointed look. Apparently, nicknames were off the table. 

As you and Natasha approached the rental car lot, you expected her to gravitate towards something sleek and inconspicuous. So, when she pointed towards a sporty sedan with ample trunk space, you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Really? This one?" You asked, your voice laced with skepticism.

"Trust me," she replied cryptically, her tone giving nothing away.

“Okay, but you’re driving,” You tossed your suitcases in the trunk. 

“Why can’t you drive?” Natasha frowned. “You are the one that made us late.”  

You winced at Natasha's accusation, knowing she had a point. "Fair enough," you conceded, feeling a pang of guilt for your role in the tardiness. "But I'm exhausted from all the stress of the morning. Besides, you're the expert driver, remember?"

Natasha's frown softened slightly at your admission, but she remained skeptical. "Fine," she relented begrudgingly, sliding into the driver's seat. "But don't think this lets you off the hook."

“I wouldn’t dream of it, honey,” You grinned, pushing your sunglasses onto your face. 

Natasha shot you a withering glare at the nickname, her expression bordering on annoyance. "Don't call me that," she muttered shortly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You raised your hands in mock surrender, unable to suppress a smirk at her reaction. "Got it," you replied, making a mental note to refrain from using any more nicknames in the future. “Can I call you baby?” You asked unable to resist pushing her buttons further. 

Natasha's expression darkened, her icy glare intensifying at the suggestion. "Absolutely not," she retorted firmly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

You chuckled softly, realizing you had crossed a line, but the temptation to tease Natasha was too strong to resist. "Just thought I'd ask," you replied with a shrug, settling back into your seat as Natasha revved the engine, ready to hit the road.

Twenty-three hours until Miami. -------> part 2

[i-heart-mgg]

Puppy Love - Ch.1

Pairings: Spencer Reid x female reader

Summary: It’s your first day at the BAU and you meet the genius Dr. Spencer Reid who quickly becomes a blabbering, stuttering mess once you start to get to know him.

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of horror movies/books, general anxiety

Word count: 2182

Next chapter

————————————————————————

The hot sweat that radiated off your body contradicted the chilly morning condensation slowly dripping down the windows of the small but practical car you got for your eighteenth birthday. Nearing a whole six years ago.

You watched as the droplets raced against each other, a harsh battle for which one would reach the window sill first. In an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that you were parked outside the FBI Quantico headquarters, where you were about to start your first ever day as a real FBI agent.

You swung open the car door forcefully, heart pounding with an overwhelming sense of anxiety that comes with starting any new job. Let alone, one of the most highly sought-after and official in the country.

Standing outside in the soft breeze with the tranquil sound of lush trees whisking in the wind, you took a deep inhale. Soon exhaling as you briskly walked your way through the glass sliding doors, into the cold and desolate hallways. Choosing to ignore the emptiness, considering it was 7:30 am and you and your new unit chief, Aaron Hotcher, were presumably the only two people in the building.

Your fingernails dug into the sides of your upper thighs over the rough fabric of your plain black, possibly too-tight slacks. Accentuating in all the right places- just because you’re a huge nerd whose only hobby is reading the latest articles in just about anything, except for maybe how to become an alpha male with a PhD in hating women, does NOT mean you have poor taste in fashion.

Your hand hesitantly reached out towards Hotchs' office door to place three short knocks against it. "Come in." A deep, no-nonsense, kind of voice called out from inside the room. One last deep breath out before you prepared for the best act of faux confidence, dare I say ever performed.

That was until you could feel his eyes reading every tiny detail about you like a book, from the insecure look in your eyes down to the over-thought-out choice of your plain black slacks. All your prior preparation was completely thrown astray. You forgot that profilers also profile regular people, much different to deranged criminals. "H-hello, I'm (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)". You stuttered as you reached to shake the intimidating man's hand. "Welcome to the BAU (Y/L/N), it's a pleasure to meet you".

He went over all the formalities with you until it was time to introduce yourself to the rest of the team, all of which you knew a bit of information about from previous research. Not to be creepy but just to get more acquainted with everyone, lessen the overload of information you were inevitably absorbing on that day.

Your eyes scanned the bullpen as one by one, agents walked through the glass doors of the BAU. Having seen all your soon-to-be-colleagues in the various articles you'd read, none of them phased you, except one. He was tall, and handsome, with slick-back chocolate brown hair, and big, adorable hazel eyes shielded by a pair of glasses, only being 1 year your senior but having accomplished three times as much as you. It was the one and only Dr. Spencer Reid.

He locked eyes with you for a second, before you swiftly averted your gaze to who you presumed was SSA Emily Prentiss, cheeks slightly tinted rosy to have been caught staring. The sound of a door opening and closing alerted you to Hotch advancing towards you, it was time to get the most nerve-wracking part out of the way.

With clammy hands and an urge to jump off a building, Hotch cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his team. "Hi I-um-I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N), but I guess you can call me SSA (Y/L/N), or (Y/N), whichever you'd like!" Well, you completely fucked that one up, may as well just quit right then and there. This was not going according to plan.

"I think I like baby girl better, or maybe pretty girl, you seem like the copy-and-paste female version of our pretty boy Spence here". That must have been the infamous Derek Morgan, judging by his suave attitude and demeanour. Unsure of what to say, you heard another voice speak instead.

"Morgan! You can't just say that, especially not to (Y/N), it's her first day, and I'm not even a pretty boy so that comparison is quite redundant in the first place!" Spencer whisper yelled at Derek. "Come on Reid, she's gonna have to get used to me at some point may as well start as early as possible." He said as he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh, 'em, gee!! You're so, so, cute! Hi, I'm Penelope Garcia, the world's best tech analyst who can just about hack into anyone's devices." You chuckled lightly before she enthusiastically took your hand. "Good to know, I'll keep that in mind for whenever my ex tries to contact me again". You two both began to break out into a small fit of giggles before another three people approached you.

Jennifer jaureu, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss and yourself exchanged greetings and humorous banter before Hotch ordered the team to meet in the briefing room for your first case. A mixture of excitement and consternation bubbled up in the pit of your stomach as you cautiously made your way down the steps.

The team found their usual spots at the round table, leaving a singular spot next to Spencer Reid. You crept up to the seat, eyes darting wildly over anything that wasn't his own, before facing your body towards him.

"Could I- perhaps, sit here, please?" Spencer nearly jumped at your voice, a little startled by your sudden appearance. "Ah-well, y-yes of course, uh- nice to meet you, sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I didn't mean anything by it, it just seemed like you were busy with other people and- and it just-" "Reid!" Hotch slightly raised his voice to get the attention of the Dr. after calling it out about 5, 10, maybe even 15 times. It's not exactly like you were paying any attention to Hotchner either.

Spencer let out a meek "sorry" before The briefing began. The case involved a string of murders involving families in their own homes, those of which were alarmingly brutal. Even though you had worked with stuff similar to this in the academy, the reality of the crimes never fully set in as it did when you were the one investigating murders and catching the killers.

The briefing wrapped up and not long after it was "wheels up in 30" as Hotch likes to say. You felt like you were already learning a lot about everyone, making it much easier to feel comfortable around them. Although Spencer was still unexplored territory to you.

—x—

"Oh um yeah I really like that book! I mean I think you could already figure by me reading it.." he trailed off before awkwardly tittering. "Have you watched the movie too?" You questioned him, trying to get him to open up more regardless of the fact you were also extremely terrified of most human interaction.

"I have, surprisingly, I mostly just read books". He simply stated. "Ah I see, are you into any horror movies though? Because damn do I love them!!" "I do, I do! They're practically the only ones I watch but I have a fascination with the horror genre, as well as Halloween. Arguably the best holiday ever."

You laughed at his exceedingly biased opinion, sitting yourself down across from him on the plush couch to continue your conversation. In due time, the rest of the team piled in, Spencer and I's delightful discussion was cut short as we had to talk about real-life horror, not nearly as fun.

—x—

As you worked tirelessly into the once radiant sunlight-filled skies, now shrouded by darkness, you could feel the looming presence of slumber sneaking its way into every inch of your body. That seemed to be the way everyone else was feeling too, the drooping eyelids and slouched posture a tell-tale sign that we all needed some well-earned rest.

"Alright let's wrap it up for tonight, we aren't going to make any progress in this state and we need some fresh eyes," Hotch announced. We began packing our go-bags up to head to the least sketchy motel, which was still extremely mediocre at best.

You lazily undressed and threw on your oversized cal tech T-shirt, just your underwear underneath before crawling under the worn-in duvet covers. The moment your head hit the pillow you were out like a light.

The same unfortunately couldn't be said for dear Spencer, a lot was plaguing his thoughts. Some were about the case, most were about you. How smart you were, how pretty you were, and especially how well you got along. It wasn't often Reid warmed up to people this quick, even less so with that of the opposite gender, but he found himself getting lost deep in conversation with you. It felt too good to be true, after all he didn’t have the best luck with women.

As he twisted and turned over between his left and right sides, Spencer knew he was getting nowhere. His lanky frame sat upright on the bed, reaching out for his glasses to have some clue where he was heading. He glanced over at the time; 3:42 am, before creaking the door open carefully so as to not wake his dreaming coworkers.

The Dr. made his way in the direction of the lobby, passing by the arguably atrocious-looking floral wall print and stain-ridden carpet. Soon stopping by a janky old vending machine accompanied by an even dodgier-looking water dispenser. He fumbled around in his sweatpants pockets before he inserted a coin to get the sweetest coffee available. He scrunched his nose in dismay, it wasn't sweet at all (It probably was but we know how much sugar this man likes in his coffee).

"Spencer..?" A voice chimed out to him, your voice. "Oh (Y/N), what are.. you um- doing here?" He fidgeted with his hands before looking down to make eye contact. "I could say the same thing," you snickered. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I might as well get some coffee before I attempted to do some more work on the case," He explained.

His eyes travelled even further down your figure, passing the ends of the messy (H/C) hair cascading down your chest. He noticed a familiar bold black text plastered on the front of your T-shirt. The realisation hit in the form of a deep red blush creeping its way up his neck onto his sculpted cheeks, as you were wearing the exact same thing. Excluding the bottom wear, were you even wearing anything underneath- fucking hell could this get any worse for him?

Quick answer, it could. You reached your arm up to snatch the coffee from his grasp, tutting your lip while your shirt had risen just about as far as it could go before you'd flash your lace panties for anyone to see. "Give me that, you need to sleep!" You scolded him, your palm pressed flat against his chest, trying to obtain the drink. He sharply inhaled at the movement, unsure of what to do next.

"It's ok seriously, I wouldn't be able to sleep either way." He assured you, but your stubborn ass couldn't take that as an answer. "You could always come to my room, I'm sure me cuddling you would make you sleep like a baby," you teased. "E-excuse me, what.. do you-" "I'm only kidding, jeez ever heard of sarcasm?" You heartily laughed.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to articulate any kind of thought racing his temporarily stupefied mind into speech. As Emily said an IQ of 187 was slashed to 60. Luckily for him, you chose to pull away to grab a disposable cup. Lukewarm water trickled into it as you waited impatiently for it to fill.

"God, could this take any longer?" You let out an exaggerated huff before downing it in one go. "And room temperature too?! This place desperately needs some upgrades." Spencer chuckled at your hysterics before you snapped back at him, "What exactly do think you're laughing at, if I recall correctly you were the one left all cute and flustered by my little joke." You raised your eyebrow waiting for a response yet none came, that sure shut him up.

The thud of the coffee cup as it dropped to the bottom of the trash can rang through both of your ears before you promptly turned on your slippers to head back to your own... compact, motel room. Leaving him a star-struck mess who would certainly not need any caffeinated beverages to stay awake till dawn.

Hope this wasn’t dog shit and you enjoyed, l’ll be uploading more parts to this series soon. Thanks for reading and feel free to make any requests for Spencer 😜.

[jymwahuwu]

Cloud Knight!darling makes a bet with their fellow cloud knight friends that if someone in their group gets a high profile partner, they have to get married and have kids first😆😂

TADA! Darling gets 😱 General Jing Yuan?! And shockingly the exiled Blade! What luck to get TWO matches?! Unaware of the General's gaze on you (from behind you), you shrug it off and turn around to tell your friends that it's a pipe dream-

Uh oh- The general is standing behind you🧍‍♂️and wraps his arm around your waist to tell you that it's ok, you'll be given time to accept the match... But he didn't tell you that you're relieved of your job to serve him and be his little precious housewife nor the fact that he's requested for Blade to come back so you three could have a tiny wedding... With a small bump on your tummy of course🥰

-💦anon (that's constantly horn knee for blade and Jing yuan, I mean who wouldn't 😔)

Your brain has so many interesting ideas!! I LOVE THIS!! Would be freaking out and be so happy 🤣😳😳❤️‍🔥Think this matching service could be more dystopian, ostensibly consensual, but actually forced marriage...

CW: yandere, forced marriage, kind of dystopian

"Oh come on. What's so special about that matching service? I'm sure they'll match me with someone who doesn't even know how to fight."

"Huh? If not?"

"Hmph, getting married and having a baby? okay. Anyway, I'm of the marriageable age in Xianzhou."

Luofu recently arranged for people to go to a matching service to increase the proportion of the married population (loneliness in the universe is already one of the afflictions of long-lived species)… even though you are part of the army is no exception. You fold your arms, discussing the service with your cloud knight companions, curling your lips indifferently. You guys bet that if one of you is lucky enough to find a high profile partner, get married and have a baby first.

A few days later, you receive an electronic report on your phone and walk over to your companion. You were joking and clicked on the results together.

Matching Result: Jing Yuan, Blade (Warning: This person is wanted by Xianzhou. For your safety, the result has been backed up to Seat of Divine Foresight) Suitability for Marriage: 90% Suitability for Reproduction: 95% The results are based on rigorous scientific analysis, as detailed below: … *The system has automatically sent your information to your matching partner(s). We wish you happiness and look forward to seeing you get married soon!*

You opened your mouth slightly, and a big "?" appeared on the top of your head. You swipe the screen with your fingers, and checked it several times before you realized that it was not the person with the same name as General Jing Yuan, but the real General Jing Yuan… And that Blade you saw on the wanted poster? This is your matching result? And why can this service invade your privacy and automatically send your information to them? Too much confusion fills your mind.

Okay, this must be a pipe dream. You shrug and turn your head away, planning to tell your friend that you're going to ignore this.

Something is gently placed on your waist, it is a hand. Your back shivered from the close contact, and you let out a little scream, and turned around to find that it was…General Jing Yuan!?!? Jing Yuan was amused by your reaction, squinting his eyes, and Say hello to you. Cloud Knight's friends were petrified.

"It's okay," the general said softly. "I will give you time to accept the matching result. By the way, I have already booked the venue and date, for the wedding, you know. And Blade, he also expressed his willingness to return to Xianzhou."

"What-what?" Your mind is in turmoil.

Under the gaze of everyone, Jing Yuan kissed your forehead and left in a good mood. "I'll be visiting your house tonight, darling."

As for Blade, he is returning to Xianzhou from somewhere in space, and is checking your profile. Kafka is encouraging him and telling him what to pay attention to when meeting his future partner. Silver Wolf is telling him that he can refer to visual novels 💀